Some of us die young
by TwistedNym
Summary: [Thomas/Maven, Modern AU Part 1] When Thomas meets a boy in a place he doesn't want to be in, he doesn't know yet he'll fall hard. But he can't look away. He's just a street rat, and he doesn't expect to fall for someone so out of his reach. This couldn't end well.
1. Chasing Tails

"I have nothing to say about my family." That's all boy in the blue hoodie mutters, shifting uncomfortably. He doesn't want to be here.

 _Who does?_ Thomas thinks, scratching his chin. If it was up to him he would spend the evening at home, curled up on a couch, eating pizza and watching something trashy on the old TV. That is a lazy and appropriate activity for someone like him.

Just ignore the outside world.

But he can't do that. And it's not only because he is obligated to stay.

It is because he doesn't have a couch and a TV anymore.

His old life. With a place to stay. Gone. Like he was gone the night he took his bags.

What a joke.

"I am sure there would be something." The counselor doesn't let it stand. "How does this situation make you feel?"

He's very contained, Thomas has to give him that. He remembers his first interrogation by that clipboard swinging terrier.

Thomas just wanted to bolt. He didn't, of course, not that evening, but the wish never left.

"Not comfortable, I suppose." The boy says irritated.

Yeah, who wouldn't be irritated at a question like this?

Thomas watches through a strand of his hair, arms crossed. This group is a joke. But everyone is aware of that. Even the counselor.

Which is why Thomas wonders why he finds himself suddenly interested.

Maybe it's just the sense of the new. He knows all the other faces on the metal chairs.  
Maybe it's just because most of the group are girls. And more importantly, elite.

Fancy drivers, nice tech, and pretty clothes. Thomas felt deranged the moment he stepped in. But he couldn't swap and his defiance only brought more hours to spend in this hell.

Because it is. Hell. At its finest. Even the demons are here. Though they are awfully quiet on their chairs. And they are all watching the newbie. What was his name again? Oh yeah, Maven.

"Do you want to say more about your family?"

 _Better check the list._ Thomas thinks. He doesn't say it. He wants to leave limbo someday soon. He leans back, arms behind his head in careless nonchalance. In truth, it's all just show.

"No."

"Not about your mother?" the counselor asks again.

The boy's blue eyes are narrowed. He's so cold if Thomas attempted to lick his skin he'd get his tongue stuck. Like those lamppost things. Oh, whatever. It sounded better the first moment he thought it than it does now. Licking strangers is out of the question. Even if they have his sympathy and look decent enough." My mother has nothing to do with this."

"His moms the boss of a company now, isn't she?" someone close to Thomas asks, leaning together. He doesn't make it an effort to turn around and see who said it. "Merandus? Calore?"

That's why they are all quiet. He is one of them. Big fucking chance. Rich silver folk. Thomas should have guessed. His clothes are simple but that headphones look more expensive than everything he owns.

Maven, Maven, Thomas dimly remembers that name.

That pretty boy is the son of Elara Merandus. He is the filthy rich pampered prince of the whole lot.

Great. Any sympathy is numbed down to a very tiny degree.

"No interruptions." Counselor Arven is a bony, uninterested asshole, but sometimes Thomas is reminded he is the only adult in the room.

"I don't have anything to say anymore." Maven has his hands in his pockets but Thomas is pretty sure if he saw them, they'd be tightly curled fists.

The room is dead quiet. The counselor's pencil makes uncomfortable scratching sounds on the paper. Stupid clipboard, Thomas thinks. Who uses them anyway except for situations like this?

The round continues. Thomas blends most of it out. It's always the same anyway. Questions about parents. Blame on other people. None of the ever would really change. This was all just a farce to get through.

He catches himself looking at Maven. Studying the pale face, dark hair. Lashes dark over pretty blue eyes. That cold interior is still freezing, but it's very clear for Thomas all of this is the show. There's crippling and suffocating anxiety, and if there was no wall to protect, all would tumble down. Who knew he'd be good at studying other people once. But then again...

 _He knows it because it's pretty much the same with him._

Maven notices him glaring and frowns. Thomas just blows a strand of his hair out of his face and smiles. A tiny, cocky smirk.

There's nothing real about that smile. But since no one asks, he won't tell them.

"Thomas." The counselor says. Even he hates his guts and makes sure his name is drawn out like a curse.

 _Well, you too, dude,_ Thomas thinks. As if he had asked to stay. As if he didn't have wished to play it cool over at the other group, with people who didn't think he was an insect. Sometimes he'd even rather go to jail.

Court rules are court rules and now he has to endure. Fuck judges. And deals. It was only a window and a very unenthusiastically thrown brick.

 _Ugh._

"Yeah?" Thomas just asks, leaning forward.

"Your turn."

The counselor grabs the clipboard so hard it's as if his life force is bound to it. Maybe he is a soulless automaton and to pull the plug you have to separate him from his memory chip.

"Everyone knows I just did it cause I was bored. I don't hate my life. I don't hate myself. I'm all cool and just want to leave." Lie after lie, every week. Thomas has stopped trying to appease. He is tired of it by now. "I mean this is all just some bureaucratic bullshit, we know it. Put one of the poor boys into a group of filthy rich. See how bad he does? Did we try to integrate him? Diversity and all. But he won't learn."

"Not that again." Someone mutters.

"This is discrimination." Thomas makes a fist and smashes it into his palm to give his words the flair of resistance. Not so bad. Though he a little tired of the gimmick. He continues cause he knows it will get everyone angry. And if they are, maybe the session ends sooner. Works sometimes. No one ever expects a political discussion with someone who looks like he can barely read. It doesn't matter he just repeats the words. They aren't his.  
"You silver assholes just won't let me be. It's almost like I am a conscripted soldier in a war. Well, guess what I don't wanna march. I just wanna go."

"That language won't get you anywhere." The counselor disapproves.

Everyone is aware of the snorting sound.

A collective sigh goes through the round.

They hate him.

He tires them.

But no one is taking the bait this time.

 _I need a new strategy for next week,_ Thomas notes.

Maven is not frowning anymore. But he still watches closely. Thomas is almost flattered.

After the session is over and clipboard automaton counselor pretends they don't exist anymore, Thomas makes it his weekly duty to steal all the food he can.

Nobody is gonna miss it, are they? Well if he has to be here the least they can do is fill his stomach.

The looks are the same. He's ridiculous to them. Stuffing a whole fancy pastry in his mouth he turns around, chewing for everyone to see. A girl close by is shuddering in disgust. He loves it. Because if you don't have anything left you might as well collect hate and disgust.  
Sometimes Thomas thinks that is his sole purpose in life.

After the plastic bag is filled, it gets stuffed in his old messenger bag. He decides it was fun, but hey, every party has to end somehow.

Down the fancy stone steps, away from the monstrous architectural disaster of the center. Away from the meticulous cut grass and trees. Away from glass that reflects fake care.

Cars are parking, shining monochrome. Drivers on the pedal, probably.

He's surprised to see the red old van in the middle of them all. It looks grotesque and deranged, like spit on a polished marble floor.

Usually, no one is really inquired to pick him up. But it suits him just fine. Something about today and that pampered prince won't leave him alone. He's afraid he'll get run over by the bus if he walks.

That would fit him right. Thoughts everywhere they do not belong.

Farley is waiting patiently, eagle eyes on the steering wheel. She isn't the type for distractions. He loves that about her. Her _no bullshit_ policy.

He doesn't complain she's here. He doesn't ask why she came.  
He just accepts that she is seeing him.  
And that some part of her cares enough to look after him, make him crash on her couch on these days.

And maybe he just wants to avoid thinking she only came to care because she hates Silver more than he ever did.

"How was counseling?" She asks. She doesn't let go of the steering wheel, even though a strand of blond hair falls right into her eyes.

"A shitshow. As always." He shrugs, leaning back into the worn down leather seat, inhaling.

The car smells like fast food, probably thanks to Shade.

It smells faintly of weed. Again, thanks, Shade. These two smells are probably linked. Shade Barrow has the stoner appetite of thirty men. Thomas doesn't mind that. In fact, he likes the smell, because he likes Shade. Shade always looks after everyone. He ought to relax from time to time. In fact, it's the only time Thomas can grip him. Because Shade never stays in the same place long.

The car is clean and he knows that's because Farley made sure it is. There is a sticker, and of course, it's some political slur.

He can almost see Farley and Shade together, arguing and fighting for a right they'll never accomplish.

Farley is watching a big car pull in mercilessly in front of them. Cutting them off.

Thomas follows her eyes. It's very fancy, ought to give them that. Clean and way too big for one person claiming the seat. But of course, that's what happens. A boy in a blue hoodie gets in, hunched and clearly still not comfortable. Farley wrinkles her nose, only slightly, but she sure as hell is disgusted. Thomas can empathize.

"You hungry?" he asks her. "Stole food again."

"No." She shakes her head, eyes not leaving the impressive car, blue and white, in front of them. "I lost my appetite."

She pulls out with a speed that makes Thomas regret not to have put on a safety belt. Farley doesn't acknowledge the honking and the yelling. Thomas waves with as much bravado as he can muster.

Someone flips him off. He chuckles and leans back again. Maybe the evening at Farley's place won't be so bad. Maybe Thomas can find out why he is still thinking about Maven. Wondering what he did to deserve this. All of it.

This time, Thomas stays for three days on Farley's couch. It is not like the couch is very comfortable. His legs are too long and he only fits curled up tightly. His neck always hurts in the morning and he feels stiff. It's not about physical comfort. The couch is close to the kitchen. In the morning he can hear the coffee machine, roaring and boil as it fights to fulfill its task. Dishes and tableware are clinking and cupboards rummaged. It reminds Thomas of home, of mornings when he woke up too early and could hear his mother. If Farley knew he'd just compared her to a mother. Huh.

It's always loud and busy at Farley's. There are always one or two familiar faces. Some people seem to be glued to the interior. In this buzzing moments, Thomas just sits still and watches. They discuss and they argue, they get loud sometimes. But in the end, no one leaves angry. Sure, it's all just hypothetical hush hush. Most of the people that sit here, talking about oppression and that life is not fair (boho, yeah, life sucks) are young, and they have no clue about the real world. Idealistic. Thomas doesn't discuss anything with them anymore. He was on more than one protest, but what did it get him?

He wishes he could believe in what they say. In the end, he doesn't. He is too bitter and self-conscious. He is a coward anyway. He couldn't do anything to support them.

Shade keeps off the radar and Thomas is sure he missed him for the next few days. He doesn't go to the Barrow house. They treat him nice and all. But in the end, it's the same reason he doesn't stay with Farley for longer than a few days, a week at best. No one can catch him ever again. And that's for the best because sometimes staying is hard and hurts. And company can be a burden.

He doesn't even think of Maven. Which is good, he decides.

* * *

The next week the circle is gone and replaced by enormous boxes and a beamer.

Education, yeah, two hours of some propaganda. For the silvers, it is like an advertisement he supposes but for him, it's just a reminder he doesn't belong.

When he sees a hunched over shadow approach he smiles. The pampered prince wears blue again, though it's not very visible in the darkness. There's only one chair left. It's next to him. He tells himself it won't matter anyway. Why not go through with it?

Maven wouldn't have acknowledged it but he too paid attention to the way Thomas was dressed, in jeans with rips and ripples along his knees and legs, half fashionable and half destroyed and old. He also wears a black hoodie two numbers too big despite the summer heat outside.  
The hoodie once must have said 'meat is murder' now it only exclaims 'meat is mu' and someone has put a sticker on a milk carton on it that shows a smiling cow.

It could almost be endearing if Thomas didn't look like he had spent the night in a gutter. His hair is slightly wet, curling on the hollow crack of his neck. It's hastily brushed with his fingers, falling into his brow.

Maybe that is part of the reason no one wants to sit next to him.

Maven takes a sniff, very cautious as he sits next to him. He smells of sweat but nothing so bad one could claim Thomas reeks.

Thomas notices his wrinkled nose. He smiles that tiny smirk that looks like a crack in a mirror. Very unnerving.

Maven pretends not to notice, hands in his pockets, turning away.

He can't pretend for long. The music is too loud and noisy, no one is paying any attention. Even the counselor sits on his chair in the back of the room. A cell phone is illuminating his face. Maven is fairly sure he tells his mother every detail. They have history and the counselor is still in contact with her. His palms are sweaty and he feels so uncomfortable he wants to hide under the chair.

And then he sees Thomas is still staring and something in him snaps.

"Why are you still looking at me?" he hisses under his breath.

Thomas is not impressed. He shrugs. "I am bored and you are cute."

That's something he hasn't anticipated. He's glad in the darkness no one can notice the blush creeping up his neck.

"Very funny." He says, leaning away.

Thomas is still glaring without the attempt to cover it up.

"Yeah no, I mean it." He says. " You up to some fun? We could ditch these losers."

Maven turns away and doesn't look at him anymore.

The third week is back to the group of chairs, a circle in hell. Thomas is early and to his surprise, he isn't the only one.

Maven looks pale and not very good. He looks like a monster from his nightmares is gnawing at his toes right this moment. He looks like, frankly put, shit.

Thomas has one or two punchlines prepared but he forgets them the moment he sees the dark circles under Maven's eyes.

Instead, he just sits down in the chair next to Maven and waits. The other boy has a book on his lap and doesn't look up. Thomas coughs and waits. He waits in vain.

Somewhere along the lines, the silence drags on and Thomas starts to fidget on his chair.

When Maven isn't even responding to that, he decides to take a shot.

"Just have four more rounds to go until I am free." He leans back and tries to be casual.

"How very fortunate for you."

"Yeah." He doesn't know why he tries to talk that stiff little prince into a good and lasting conversation. He's like all the others. He probably deserves more than this shitshow of a therapy round and is only here because his family bought a way out.

Silvers never get what they deserve. But then again that boy really doesn't look like he hurt someone.

"What are you in for?"

Maven looks up now. "That should be none of your interest."

Thomas makes a wet fart sound. Childish? Yes. Effective to piss people off? Very much so.

Maven turns away again, stuffing the book away. Oh, good, I have his attention, Thomas thinks, but then Maven pulls out a phone. He is rather staring at his phone than wasting a second glance at him. Ridiculous. Thomas has never even had a proper cell phone, but he knows that one ought to cost some pretty money.

"Pull that stick out of your ass. I am just trying to be nice."

"You are doing a rather poor impression."

Thomas rolls his eyes. He isn't really annoyed. He kind of understands the reservation. "Dude, you are not helping your case."

"I have no intention to talk to you."

Look at you, all judgmental, he thinks, maybe you are really not that different from all the other snobs.

 _Farley would be proud I embraced the agenda._

It's almost a challenge. And Thomas told Maven the truth. He is bored. And he finds Maven decent looking. All right, all right, maybe he finds him downright cute, like, wanting to tuck someone in a blanket and tell them a story to let them fall asleep cute. Not that it would change anything about the fact they are miles from each other and this is just some fling, something to unnerve and something to waste time on.

"We'll see about that," Thomas promises.

Maven huffs. Indifferent.

Thomas smiles.

Farley hasn't picked him up anymore, so she must be pretty busy. It's not like he is lost without her.

He sits on a bench in the park, close to the center. It's the tidy part of town. Not as fancy as up the hills but not as bad as the Stilts.

Thomas has spent his whole youth in the Stilts. He doesn't miss it. Sometimes he misses his family. But he never pushes or gives in that wish.

Some things are better left untouched.

* * *

The next week he is not in the mood to mess around. Which is a first? There has been a fair share of bad circumstances. Thomas hasn't eaten in a day and he feels dirty, clogged in sweat and mud. Sitting down next to Maven, he crosses his arms and waits for the time to pass.

There is a hole in his shirt and an even bigger one in his stomach. It's making him foul.

The pencil moves slowly over the piece of paper. The nothingness of the words disappears. Instead, lines of branches and leaves circle over the edge.

Why a tree? Why not? Things don't always need to make a ton of sense. Sometimes they are just pretty.

When Thomas looks up from the sketch he finds two blue eyes watching him.

"Not half bad, is it?" He exclaims with as much pride as he can muster.

The answer is surprising him. It's honest and small. "It isn't."

Filling the leaves and flowers crawling over the paper, he knows that there is still a set of eyes watching. Words wash over them, erased and blocked as easily as the tree swallows the paper.

No one expects them to talk. Or to listen, for that matter.

"I smashed a window," Thomas says. "Was a fancy store up at the hills. Trashed some stuff. I just got off easily because they wanted to hold the quote with this rehabilitation shit."

"I didn't ask." Maven replies, seemingly caught by that honesty. His shoulders are tense and his hands are still in his pockets. They seem to be glued in there.

"Still wanted to know. They all do." The words leave a bitter taste in his mouth. " What's that filthy Red doing in the nice part of town?"

"You're only a little filthy." There is some humor in that.

Thomas snorts. Who knew the stiff had a joke in him. He finds himself liking this conversation.

"Thanks, pal. Appreciated. I give my best."

Maven is a clam. Thomas intends to pry it open. If only just for one look.

He crosses his legs and doodles on some brochure someone must have slipped in his bag when he was staying at Farley's. It's a red sun. Thomas draws a face on the sun. It doesn't look very happy.

"See, I am not so bad, so tell me, what are you in for?"

Maven stares at him as if Thomas has just asked him to reveal the secret of immortality.

"Then don't tell me. I'm not that desperate." Thomas shrugs it off. Though he is very desperate.

"I burned a house." Maven answers, in the end, voice very small.

Thomas' head whips around. He is trying to keep his cool. "Like, actually lit a matchstick and gasoline and shit? Dude, what the hell?"

There are the walls again. He probably should have phrased it different. You don't ask the guy you maybe have grown to find cute what's his fucking problem is. It sounds a little judgy.

"I mean, "Thomas tries to backpedal." It's not like never wanted to burn something down. But you actually did it. That's dangerous, isn't it?"

"It was an empty house." Maven says head turned away, shoulders arched up in a tense move.

"Can I see it? Why'd you do it?"

 _Who has a problem now?_

"Are you making fun of me?" Maven asks.

"Yeah, sometimes. But not now. It's totally cool if you say no, though. I know it's messed up to ask."

Maven doesn't answer anymore. Gambled and lost, Thomas thinks.

He leaves the paper and the pen on the chair. He has no room for it in his bag.

He doesn't notice someone is considering taking it. In the end, the paper is left behind in an empty room full of chairs.

Wandering around the city, he finds himself in the Stilts. Luckily far away from his home. He remembers a corner where he used to play. Only new thing added is a graffiti and more dirt and rubbish. It will probably always look the same.

It's getting colder and he hasn't found a couch to crash on tonight. That happens. People have it scarce. They are friendly but he wouldn't rely on their hospitality if they regret it. He never presses the matter. It's not that big of a deal. Not right now. It'll probably get harder in the colder days of autumn and winter. Homeless people often are found frozen to death in winter nights.

Holding his bags close he sits down on some stairs that lead to a wooden porch. Graffiti is plastered over papers that fill the wall like a tapestry.

No one really cares. That's good.

"We never really introduced us to each other."

Thomas rolls his eyes. "Dude, the counselor says my name five times a session to curse my existence... And everyone knows who you are. Your family is the filthy rich top. You're like royalty."

"I know." Something is gnawing on the pretty boy, Thomas thinks. It takes a while until he realizes Maven has probably just wanted to make a step in his direction. And he just walked over it. It's something Thomas is good at. Walking over things. Walking away from them.

"But you're right, I guess. Thomas, your Highness."

There's the slightest of flushes on Maven's neck and ears as he takes Thomas nonchalantly outstretched hand.

His hand is slender fingers and soft skin. He hasn't scars or rough spots like Thomas. He's even slightly warmer than him.

"Maven will do."

* * *

He doesn't expect to find one of the Barrow girls at the store he just planned to..eh, shall we say, lent food from?

It's the one called Mare. He never had much to do with her. She is always on the move, just like her brother. He knows for certain she's just as a petty thief as he is. Which is only proven in the way she leans over one of the long rows of shelves, ready to strike.

He watches her. She's not exactly as filthy as he is. Figures, she at least has a permanent roof, however small and stuffed.

He has approximately five to ten minutes before someone wants the stench removed. He could let her fall into a trap.

But what kind of monster would do that?

"Girl, you better not doing what I think you do." he leans over her smaller frame, and her hand moves back, in a haste.

"Got a new camera over there." His eyes shift slightly and she follows. It's good hidden, one has to give them credit for that. Thomas wouldn't know if he hadn't lurked around the store on the day they installed it. That had cost him lunch. But now it seems worth the empty belly.

They move in silence, ushered out by the glares. She is like a wild cat, that one, brusque and not very trusting. He can't blame her. You grow up piss poor you gain a certain attitude.

"I can' go back empty-handed." She insists. There are words she doesn't say. He knows them nonetheless. Hand down clothes, empty cupboards, crumbs, and bits. Their families work their hands bloody and they have a home. Warm and good. He still remembers good enough how little they had when he was small.

Thomas blows a strand of hair out of his eyes. "Your brother would kill me if he knew. But whatever. I know just the spot."

* * *

Thomas is crude the last time he has to sit in that round. He makes awful jokes and sometimes he randomly announces the time. People seem to wait for the moment he leaves as much as he does.

He hasn't anticipated anyone to say goodbye to him.

He's, to say, mildly surprised (but in a good way) when at least one person does say anything.

Maven waits until no one is looking.

"I suspect you don't have a phone."

"If I had a phone I'd probably afford pants that fit." He emphasizes the point, hooking his thumbs in his belt. The jeans hang dangerous low under the too big shirt. "Not that it doesn't suit me. A little punk chic has never done any harm."

"A no would have done." Maven looks a little uncomfortable. Thomas is slightly sorry he can't stop making fun.

"Not in my world, Mave, it doesn't." It was on a whim, that nickname. But it suits him just fine.

"Your world." He says and they stare at each other knowing it's true.

Shuffling his feet, Thomas stares at the open door. It would be easy to just go and never return. He'd never have to see any of this folks again. He could leave town. Or go home.

"Can't promise anything, but maybe you'll see me around here next week. Polluting the parking lot or stuff."

That nod and that look are enough to tell he made the right decision. For now.


	2. I would have listened

It's not like they are dating. They aren't even really doing much.  
As far as he is concerned, they are just hanging out.  
But it's still pleasant and Thomas hasn't had pleasant in a while.

As promised he lurks around the parking lot. Kicking an empty plastic cup over the asphalt. He doesn't want to get too close to the building. No one would really bother. Not if he stays down. Maybe someone calls security if he's too smelly and homeless looking. But that isn't the reason why. He hates the building with passion because it stole precious time of his life. And much more.

It just shows the difference again. The difference that makes one life harder at birth and another easier.

It's a little awkward at first because Thomas has no clue what to do or say. Which is a first? Flirting doesn't seem to be a viable option. Flings have been easy for him. It's not like he ever tried to really stay with someone past a kiss or a flirt. Most people wouldn't even be comfortable enough. Because of closets and skeletons, or whatever the saying.

Thomas can brave himself with a long list of crimes and dirty tricks...None are particularly helpful now.

The first minutes are spent in silence and he is pretty sure he fucked it up already.

"I didn't think you would come." Maven's voice suddenly says and Thomas ducks a little.

He's tousled and pretty. Pale and stern. Uncomfortable, almost. Thomas can empathize.

"Yeah, me neither." He answers. "But here we are, Mave."

The cars are slowly disappearing, one after another, and they wander around the empty parking lot in circles until Thomas realizes how stupid that is. Instead thy sit down on a bench and again the silence is deafening. Watching the street, their eyes don't meet.

"So," Thomas says.

"So?" Maven asks.

Thomas opens his mouth.

Air comes out.

Yay.

He _hates_ his life.

They watch cars drift by in the evening traffic. A blur of monochrome metal and orange light reflected. The air is a warm breeze kissing their skins. Thomas skinny arms are tanned and burned from the heat, scorched on his shoulders and neck. He knows he looks shabby. He knows he's probably taking all of this the wrong way.

And the silence stretches.

"Man," Thomas mutters finally. "Do I suck at this."

Something in his face paints the smallest of smiles on Maven's lips. It is pretty. Sharp features turning slightly softer. Thomas wonders how he'd look if he was laughing, fully loosing himself in some sort of joy. He can only imagine it to be the prettiest thing ever.  
"Yes. But that's mutual."

He shrugs it off but it's very endearing. So endearing. Too endearing.  
"Why tho? We're just hanging out."

"I don't hang out." Maven offers, shifting uncomfortably. "That's a first. You should have seen the expression my brother made when I said I was meeting someone."

"Can't imagine that," Thomas answers, leaning back with his arms behind his head. "And for once I meant that. How is your family?"

"I'd rather not talk about it."

"That's fine. I'm not really a family expert anyway." _Understatement of the year award goes to Thomas!_

Maven bristles for a moment before he decides to ask. "Are your parents still alive?"

"Yeah, I think someone would have told me if they weren't. My sisters or cousins or even just neighbors."

"But you don't live with them anymore?"

"Not since that counseling started," Thomas admits and counts the weeks. He hasn't been home the whole summer. Strange. Feels like a lifetime.

It hurts. There are shame and guilt, mixed with the hot flaming spit of anger and sorrow.

"Were they ..?"

"Hitting me?" Thomas finishes the sentence. "Hell no. They are damn sweet and never raised their hands once, no matter what I did."

"But why leave?" There seems something confusing as for why one would even want to leave.

"Have you ever been to the Stilts?" Thomas asks, glaring at Maven. He thinks of the hunger, the dirt and the misery and cannot stop himself from gritting his teeth. It's not exactly Mavens fault life is like that, but he's one of them and as much as Thomas wants to forget that, he really can't. It's stuck in the back of his head.

Maven glares away, evading Thomas gaze. "No, not directly but-"

"Thought so, pretty boy. " Thomas scoffs softly. "Lemme just make it clear. Anyone that can LEAVES. I just happened to get in trouble too. Better my parents don't have to witness that. Two for one, you could say."

* * *

Oh, trouble, Thomas best friend and secret lover. He can always taste it on the tip of his tongue. If someone would ask how exactly trouble tastes, Thomas would lick his lips and say it's an odd mix of popcorn and blood. Sweet and sticky for the high reward and coppery for all the beatings.

He tastes the copper part when he appears on Diana Farley's doorstep that night. Lights are still on and there are voices.

Farley lets him in with a look that indicates he looks as bad as he feels. That's life on the streets. You don't get anything. Thomas usually has become good at running and hiding, but really, you can't help it, especially in the middle of the night at some bus stop. The place looked cozy. The place was cozy. For someone else, in the end.  
He once watched some homeless dudes rob another, they got him pretty bad with a bottle. Looking at the bruises on his body and the dirt on his clothes, he is lucky.

"Pissed someone off again, Tom?" a voice asks when he has decided boneless flopping on the couch is acceptable. Thomas turns his eyes. He's too lazy to turn actually around. Upside down hanging from the couch he sees Tristan, just casually chilling in the doorframe.

 _My ginger bestie_ , Thomas thinks, full of love.  
If anyone is really into that rebellion shtick, Tristan is one of them. They get along, somehow. Thomas is fairly sure it is because of his charming personality. Or because he pretends to listen when all he really does is nodding and eating nachos.

"Is that a gun right there in your pants or are you happy to see me?" Thomas asks, deciding it not worth it to even answer the question. "If I'd known you were into me I could have made dinner."

"Hate to disappoint," He pulls up his shirt and Thomas whistles when he sees that this guy seriously brought a gun.

"Don't shoot yourself in the foot." Thomas is not one hundred percent against guns. He's just not happy to be close. Not with someone that seems to be trigger happy, hand glued to the gun now.

"I have practice," Tristan informs him.

Staring in this upside down positioning makes him dizzy. He finally gives up, sitting straight and feeling the blood rushing through his body.

"Huh. Well good for you. But seriously, don't shoot in anyone's foot because you wanna prove it. I've had my cut of violence for this week."

"Don't wave it around like that." Farley almost orders, and Tristan complies, silent. If anyone has a grip on her followers, it's Farley.

Thomas gets a blanket and a good night burrito. He's not in the mood to play along and Farley lets him. The squad huddles together in her kitchen and he hears them talk a while before he drifts out.

Well, curiosity cooked the cat or something. Thomas will probably turn up roasted nicely one day because he can't stop. He really doesn't want to know why Tristan has a gun and what they plan.

All he wants is someone to cuddle and annoy occasionally. Maybe not exactly a boyfriend but not just a booty call. Not that that would be easy without a phone.

Either way, cuddle and annoy it is. He's positive he can make that work somehow, with a certain someone. Or so he hopes.

 _Gotta play my cards better this time,_ he thinks. No more Stilts or parents talk.

* * *

They meet on that stupid parking lot one more time, and it's a little better than before. No weird family talk, just his cutesy old self-cracking jokes. They even go into the park and eat. Maven watches Thomas inhale his food when he takes all but two bites. He even offers his food to Thomas. Thomas wants to kiss him right here, but making out with a greasy, food snorting homeless dude on a bench, watched by pigeons, no, not the most romantic thing.

 _Maybe next time_ , he thinks to himself.

Another week goes by before Thomas decides to face his fear and takes the steps up, right into the cannibalized monster made of dark glass. Nothing has changed, really. He knows the way down the halls, he knows the door. Even the smell is the same. Makes his toenails curl.

The door is open and the round of chairs half full. Some familiar faces. He doesn't say anything. Just leans close and waits. His eyes find a familiar blue dressed back, hunched over slightly.

He doesn't want to make things weird. For all Thomas knows, Maven could say things he doesn't want Thomas to know. Also, it's better to just leave and not draw any suspicion or trouble. It's bad enough for the pretty boy he agreed to hang out. Thomas is sure he gets a lot of shit by a lot of people already.

"Impressive." Maven says when he moves out and sees Thomas leaning on the cold naked stone wall.

His voice is so dry Thomas just blinks, waiting.

"You didn't burst up in flames when you stepped in."

That makes him laugh. He laughs louder than usual cause his heart is still racing and his pulse is a staccato in his ears.

"I thought I had imagined you had humor, pretty boy."

Something close to a frown crosses Mavens face. "Just stop calling me that."

"But I like calling you that!" Thomas protests. "No one is stopping you from returning the compliment, by the way."

Another frown. Then Maven just turns around to leave. Thomas laughs again before he hurries to catch up.

"Got plans or just want to hang out?"

"Plans, actually." He looks back and seems pleased that Thomas is cleanly dressed. Though the boots are shabby and the pants are too big with holes, like always. He wears a shirt someone left at Farley's, a clock on it. The owner has added red lines and political messages to it.  
 _Cut the symbolism down, girls,_ he thinks the first time he wears it. But it's a cozy shirt and the last clean one. Just one tiny hole under his arm. Compared to Maven he still looks odd and piss poor. Luckily he never says a word and Thomas swallows whatever he wants to say about it.

The bookstore is small. It smells like paper and dust. Thomas immediately notices how quiet it is between the rows and tables stacked with comics and books.

Maven moves further, disappearing behind a shelf. Thomas is unsure if he wants to follow. Last time he read a book was elementary school. He can read, for the better part, that's not true for everyone born in the Stilts, and he's not the worst at it. He just doesn't really like it.

He strolls along the shelves in the front. The owner watches him, but he doesn't say a word. Thomas isn't ripping pages out of books or anything ridiculous.

There's a book with a maroon colored envelope. It's one of those empty notebooks. Thomas touches the paper and it feels good. A pencil and a proper hand could make nice sketches. It's the kind of book he likes. One that fills itself with stuff instead of expecting him to pick it up in hard work.

When he turns around, he finds Maven watching.

There's a bunch of comics stuffed under his arm, and it's the geekiest but probably also the cutest thing ever.

"Found something, I see."

"Do you want that book?"

Thomas pulls his hand back as if the envelope has caught fire.

"Nah. Was just looking."

"I could-"

"I don't want to own you money, Mave." _Please let's not go there._

The maroon colored sketchbook is forgotten, at least by Thomas, as soon as he turns away. If he'd whine over everything he can't afford, he would whine all day.

Maven is frowning at him again, but he doesn't say anything.

"So, pretty boy," Thomas tries to give his voice a lightness he doesn't feel. The doorbell rings as they step out. "What now? Wanna sit down? Or do you have somewhere else to go?"

"I hate shopping. So finding a bench sounds nice."

"I know a cozy place by the water." Thomas sees the wrinkled nose, the distaste at the thought of moving through the crowd. He offers a hand. He doesn't even know why. Maven isn't the type for public affection, clearly. And they don't even know each other that well.  
And then, of course, there is still the blood question.  
Maven doesn't take his hand and Thomas has anticipated the outcome.

When they finally make their way over the street and down a pair of stairs, the thinned out crowd promises some quiet time. Thomas hops on a bench close to the river. He's slept here before. It's nice, really. The splashing sound of the small waves that hits the stones. The distance between the street sounds and them, just a jump up the stairs but so far away.

He's surprised when a hand brushes his, but he takes it and doesn't ask. They just sit by the water and hold tightly onto each other.

"I don't really like owing people. It's nothing personal, Mave."

"You wouldn't owe me."

"I would, in some sense. And I couldn't pay it back." He thinks of all the times he owes blasted Diana Farley and Shade Barrow for them bailing him out or just feeding him, letting him stay somewhere. It's still different from them because he knows they wouldn't spend money on something wasted like a sketchbook.

Thomas lets go of the hand but only so he can pull Maven right beside him. There's no protest.

Funny enough, the hollow of his neck is the perfect fit for Mavens' head. Thomas takes a deep breath and finds it unfair he even smells so nice.

It's nice to have someone to lean on. Thomas knows when they move up the street again they'll both keep distance. If someone sees two guys holding hands, it could be bad enough. A silver and a shabby red? No thanks. The world really isn't nice enough for that.

If someone looks down or stares at them from the bridge in the distance now, they are just two blurry shades, one dressed black, the other blue, and it's alright.

"So, what's your catch?" Thomas asks.

"My catch?"

"Yeah." Thomas' fingers brush patterns over Maven's shoulder. "You're good-looking, you can be nice and cutesy. But people treat you like you are something else. And you don't look like someone burning down a house. So what's your dark secret?"

"Do people need a dark secret to lose control?"

"You call that a slip, but I'd say you have it happen more than once. Some weeks you look super shitty. And that's coming from the homeless dude."

"I'd rather not talk about it." Maven retreats. Both mentally and physically.

The clam is up and closed again.

Thomas misses the warmth of another body already. "Your choice, Mave. I'd have listened."

"Yes." Maven puts his hands in his pockets. " And then you'd laugh it up and leave."

Thomas thinks about denying that. But he can't rule it out. So he doesn't say anything and they sit, each one on one side of the bench.  
Some days later he finds himself on the bench again. Water rushes by. But this time Maven is pacing a little.

"The hell are you nervous about?" Thomas snorts. "You look like you've been seriously overthinking something. Got that overclocked computer look you always get when you can't decide what you wanna do."

Maven shuffles his feet. But no answer.

"Mave, what's up? I'm starting to worry. Did you get any troubles for hanging out?"

Thomas doesn't get up from the bench. He just pulls back his legs a little. So the far end is free to sit if Maven feels like it. Right now he's not looking like he's done pacing. Leaning back, using his bag as a pillow, he watches. Watching that has its own advantages as well. Mainly physical ones, but hey, only human and stuff.  
 _If it's a crime watching cute boys getting all caught up and adorable, lock me up, Officer._

Maven pulls out a bag. It's a white plastic bag, plain and simple. "I've got something for you."

"Aww, is it food? You always bring the best leftovers."

"It's not, actually." There is an edge in that small voice and Thomas gets up.

"I didn't get you anything, Mave," Thomas says, scratching his chin.

"I know you didn't want to owe me, but please refrain from cursing until you've opened it." That gets Thomas attention. He sits up and takes the bag.

"I fucking hate you for this," Thomas says, gritting his teeth.

He pulls the plastic bag open and sees a maroon colored envelope.

"Yeah," Thomas repeats. "I fucking hate you. Like, really. Like, I told you not to, and you did. Why am I even talking? Not like I was opening up or shit."

Despite every other uncomfortable frown and all the insecurities, Maven doesn't budge now. His face says nothing. It's as cold as the first day in counseling when the guy asked about his family. "You like drawing, I like you."

Thomas shoves the bag away to the other side of the bench and doesn't want to look at it. He also doesn't want to look at Maven. "And now what? I have to be all grateful and kiss your fancy silver feet? You got money, good for you. I don't."

"I didn't buy it so you'd have to be grateful. That's stupid." There are angry silver splotches appearing on Maven's cheeks and it has never been more obvious they aren't the same to Thomas. And it freaking hurts.

Thomas blows a strand of hair out of his eyes. "Yeah thanks, something else you want to add to the list? Stupid, poor red dude stealing your time. But hey, we are good at stealing stuff, so no worries."

"You're insufferable. I wanted to be nice."

Money is a sore spot. But someone born with a silver spoon wouldn't understand.

It's distasteful, really, because Thomas just thinks of the starving faces of his little sister or the scarce resources of the Barrows that makes the girl go on a spree to steal.

If they get caught they are done.

It's jail and goodbye. Because whatever people don't say on the streets, it's clear that your blood matters. The color of it decides about your chances in life.

"Buying someone stuff who doesn't want it is an asshole move and NOT nice. Now excuse me while I- I have to fucking sort this out in my head. UGH."

He gives the bag and the bench a kick and leaves.

He doesn't go back after a few minutes. He doesn't go to the parking lot next week. He just wants to forget this ever happened.


	3. Seagulls

_Thomas, you are a coward._ He tells himself, looking in the mirror.

 _Thomas, you are an idiot._

"Yeah, no news." He whispers, turning the water on. With a rusty squeak, the water floats the sink. Takes a moment or two before it has cleared and he trusts it enough to fill his palms with the ice cold water, splashing it on his face.

He runs a hand through his hair, repeats the splashing and turns the water out.

He possesses the courage to run. That's nothing new. Running has saved him. Running is what these legs know. There's no fight in them. He isn't like the Barrows, he isn't spunky or brave. He doesn't have the discipline Farley possesses, her spirit. Even though she isn't even from around town she stands up for all the shit people go through.

She takes care of them. She takes care of him. Just another stray at her doorstep.

But he, he _runs_.

He's been in the parking lot, hiding out of sight. Real adult, not the least childish. He had seen Maven leave. Granted, he wasn't alone this time. Thomas is gladly taking every excuse life offers.

It's the first time Thomas sees anyone out of the family. And there's no denying the strong resemblance the woman bears to Maven. She's as lean and slender, with the same sharp face.

Her heels are making her appear like an oversized bird ready to get its claws out and grab a sheep, like those videos about eagles. Yeah, she's super fancy dressed and pretty. But she's terrifying at it. He's heard the rumors. Now that he sees her he can believe every word is true.

Probably not so nice to think that about his mother. But hey, nice isn't always honest. And it's not like people can read his mind. Thoughts are free or whatever Farley says when she makes a political statement.

They talk, but Thomas is safe and sound hidden and too far out of earshot.

Doesn't seem like the most pleasant conversation. Makes sense he never talked about her now.

Thomas wonders what he would say if they ever met again.

Would he ask? Would he even mention it?

Yeah, was stalking you and saw you and your mom. You okay?

Nah, better not. Better never. Even his impertinence has borders.

It doesn't change the fact that he isn't sure if he will ever speak to Maven again.

After avoiding him for more than a week and not turning up to pick him off after counseling, Thomas is sure it would be better if he lets it slide.

This ought to happen from the day he laid eyes on Maven. They both knew it.

You are a coward and an idiot. He tells himself again and the words have never been truer. Someone enters the toilet and Thomas flinches. Then he grabs his bags and steps out.

The train station is busy at this time of day, people coming from work or going out to meet someone.

A normal Thursday evening.

Thomas ponders a moment. He has some spare change. He could hop the train to the Stilts and visit...his family, maybe. Or look what's up. Maybe there's something little and dirty to make money or food. But he really doesn't want to remember where he comes from. Not now.

He decides to just leave, hanging around in the nicer part of town. Sure, cops could pick him up with some obscure reasoning. Loitering or shit. Maybe they'll say he has a gun and even though he hasn't, they'd kick him in the face and tase him. Has happened to people like him more than once.

Can't have those filthy Reds destroy the pretty and peaceful day.

But there's dumpsters to dive and food to get.

High risk, high reward. It's not like he has anything to lose. He's already without home or support.

By the end of the night, he decides he still can't stop thinking about that blasted silver boy.

That look of hurt and anger makes something in him heavy. And so, when the next counseling round is over, he stands in front of the stairs, right out in the open, and waits. He feels exposed. He just wants those legs to run. But he doesn't. Biting his lip hard, he waits until a familiar blue-clad figure walks through the glass door, headphones in place. Maven almost runs into him because he doesn't look up and Thomas touches his shoulder. It's like he got a spark of electricity running through the spot where they touch.

"Hey, Mave."

Maven's blue eyes are gliding over his face. For a second Thomas is sure he wants to punch him. And that would be totally fine. Then he's all icy and closed up.

"What do you want?" The words are like stones from his mouth. Every one hits Thomas in the head with deadly precision. And he's right. What does Thomas want anymore?

" Look I fucked up. I know I should have not just left but that's me and I am not going to change. But I came back, yeah? Let's talk."

Maven looks around before he pulls out his phone.

"You've got exactly three minutes before I am picked up."

Thomas takes a very, very long breath. "I told you I hate owing people. You shouldn't have. No one's ever tried to give me anything."

Maven blinks before he stands there and stares. Merciless. "Two minutes."

"I am sorry, or whatever it is you want to hear. I really like you. But you're fancy and I have nothing. I can't even pay for something to eat most days."

"I didn't want anything in return. I was just being nice because I know you don't have money to buy things."

Thomas sighs, pushing his hair back with his hand. "That's sweet. You are sweet. I don't do good with sweet."

"I noticed." Maven says. "And you're the worst at apologizing."

"Yeah, I know. We'll work it out, tho, can we? Please say we can. I wanna. I like hanging out with you."

The black and blue car pulls in, in front of the stairs.

"I have to go." Maven says.

Thomas feels worse than the day those hobos beat him black and blue at the bus stop.

"Alright." He just whispers. He watches the other boy get down the stairs and his heart makes a painful jump with every step Maven gets away.

When he turns around, Thomas can't believe his luck. "I'll meet you at that bench by the water tomorrow. Let's say...at four?"

"Yeah. Okay. Anything, Mave."

"Better be there." Maven warns before he opens the car door and gets in.

Thomas stares at his own reflection in awe. "You bet." He says, though no one can hear him.

Thomas is early. Maven, despite his other qualities and being on point is one of them, is not. Thomas sits by the water thinking he deserves every second of uncertainty. He watches seagulls circles over their bench. It's almost five when Maven appears, hair tousled and breathing heavy. Thomas stops chewing his nails and lets out a sigh of relief.

"Sorry. My mother wasn't done asking questions. She saw you yesterday."

Thomas thinks of his helpless reflection in the car and is sure her eyes saw it all. "You got trouble?"

"No, I am off, for now. Prepare to be watched, though. She'll not let it rest for long."

Her bird of prey look comes to mind and all the nasty stuff he heard. She's ruthless. If she doesn't like the thought of her son and some low life, no one will miss him. It's sending a shiver down his spine. He tries to downplay it with his usual crude jokes. "What, isn't she busy hunting 101 puppies for a new jacket?"

"Thomas!" Maven shakes his head but it's nothing Thomas hasn't seen in his life. People love to shake their heads for him.

"Sorry, I know that's pretty disrespectful to talk about your mother like that. But she's pretty terrifying. The thought of being on her radar is not my favorite."

"You have no idea." He whispers, and Thomas wants to ask what he means but doesn't.

"That's not helping. You're not helping. I mean, your family owns mine. It's scary."

"We aren't owning people." Maven says as if Thomas told him there are flying cow circling over his head. He obviously isn'Ät fond of the topic. " It's more complicated than that."

Thomas shrugs. "Might as well be, pretty boy. There isn't much of a difference. It's only words. And those words mean nothing to my father working himself to death ."

"You have the political tact of a leaf vacuum, Thomas. I'm not sure I want to discuss this."

Thomas snorts. He's glad none of the rebellious people are here. They'd argue poor Maven into the ground. Before they'd do something else. Once it was all just words. Now he's not so sure anymore.

"Yeah, better not. If you happen to notice your mother hiring a hitman or planning a terrible accident, warn me."

"Maybe I will. A hitman." Maven shakes his head. "You're something else."

"Charming? Good looking? Witty?" Thomas offers and winks.

"I would have gone with unnerving." Maven whispers and bristles when Thomas grabs his hand. He's holding it between both of his palms. The fingers are very pale between his own.

"But in a good way." He presses a kiss on Maven's knuckles. "Right?"

Maven pulls his hand out of Thomas grasp. When Thomas looks up he sees a blush and shoulders drawn up.

"In the worst way." Maven mutters and Thomas chuckles.

It's quiet and peaceful. Thomas looks down at the water, back up at the orange light of the sun. Now or never, he decides, and maybe it has to do with the way those blue eyes are watching. Or maybe it's just because he's really sorry and hates himself for wasting precious weeks because someone cared enough to try and make him happy. He leans over, and his hand rests on Maven's neck, his thumb just below his ear, drawing little circles on the skin.

It's all perfect and fine, and his heart leaps when he feels Maven leaning in.

That's when one of the seagulls decides it's not okay with this.

With a screech, it empties the remains of his consumed food over Thomas' shoulder. White bird shit splatters over his shirt. With a disgusted noise, he stares.

The universe hates him.

Well, now the mood is certainly not for kissing anymore.

"Not cool," Thomas says, gritting his teeth and fumbling to get himself clean with an old fuzzy tissue from his pocket. "Really not cool!"

Maven makes a stifled, suffocating sound, and when Thomas looks over he sees a very concentrated face, trying not to laugh, and failing obviously.

That laugh is the most precious thing he has ever seen. It changes the whole face, and all the hard sharp lines get pulled into softer curves. It doesn't erase them, but the soft light adds shadows to it. Thomas studies him in wonder.

If he ever had the ambition to draw something it would be that second.

"Damn." Thomas isn't aware he really says it out loud. The laugh freezes on Maven's face. Thomas feels almost physical pain to see it vanish.

"You know what, screw this." He says and gives up to try and clean the mess. Instead, he reaches out again and this time he doesn't want to wait for the perfect moment to be ruined.

It's a weird first kiss, out of pace and not very long. Maven is stiff and caught by surprise. And Thomas, well, he's not sure if he's doing it right. Obviously, no one ever complained about his kissing. He's confident he's not drooling and at least their teeth are not clinking or whatever weird things happen at first kisses with people. But the kisses were never really meant anything. It was a clumsy make out session in a parking lot and behind a building, stealing time and then moving on. The lack of response now is making him nervous. Maybe he's gone off the races, again too fast and too loud, like he always does.

This is obviously a mistake.

Biting his lip, Thomas retreats. Maven looks like Thomas just straight up punched him in the gut.

"I'm sorry." He says. "Should have, eh, warned you or something."

"Perhaps. But-" Oh no, this is getting awkward. Thomas wants to throw himself into the river and drown.

Because good moments never last. And he always destroys what's left of them, as it seems.

"Oh shit." Thomas feels like someone has slapped him. Repeatedly. " Shit, I'm sorry. I got it all wrong, didn't I?"

"Thomas." Maven says.

Thomas is positive he is the most oblivious person. Of course, that smart, good-looking guy wouldn't want to kiss a smelly vagabond.

Thomas brushes his hair back with both hands, feeling miserable as he tries to unravel the shame and the misery that is building up in him. "Seriously, let's forget I did that. I am like this sometimes. Just-"

"Thomas." Maven says again, louder this time.

Thomas stops the rambling.

"You did not get anything wrong." Maven says. Thomas heart bursts into pieces. The ups and downs are too much. He fears his veins will explode when his pulse gets faster.

When he makes a step forward Maven retreats, if only a bit. "Just...take it slow. This is all very new to me."

" Wait, you're tellin me no one ever kissed you? Like..not once? Like. I am the first?"

"Is that a problem?"

"Not at all, pretty boy. Just surprised. People are stupid."

He can't himself stopping from smiling. Yeah sure, that kissing could have gone way different. But nothing about the moment could be any better. If Maven's mother decides to snipe him off the street he will die happy.

The next week goes by in a blur. They meet at the water every day, and if they don't, one always leaves a message. Thomas keeps the slips of paper stuffed in his pocket like a lucky charm.

Life's not perfect but it's fun and good for the moment and that's all that matters.

He doesn't even care someone almost catches him stealing. He's running down the block and breathing hard, heart jumping in his chest but he still can't stop himself from smiling.

It's in that moment he realizes it has hit him hard, and he's never really been in love before.

It's freaking him out, and he wouldn't say it to Maven's face for all the food and money in the world. Love is very creepy. But it's also doing things to his stomach. To everything he does, really.

The next time Maven offers the white plastic bag, Thomas takes it without saying a word.

"Next week is my last day in counseling." Maven says.

"Feeling whole and healed up from all the emotional trauma yet?" Thomas scoffs.

"All I know is that this building is a cannibalized monster and the chairs are uncomfortable. But I'm glad I didn't get my mother to bail me out."

"Me too, pretty boy."Thomas whispers and his heart makes sure to let him know how strangely whole it feels as Maven leans over and kisses his cheek, so careful as if he's made out of glass.

* * *

"Who is he?" Farley asks without a warning, sitting down next to Thomas on her couch. He has been so fixated on the sketchbook he didn't even hear her. Like a ninja. He is startled for a moment.

"Who? What?" Thomas tries to sound innocent. He lost that innocence a pretty while ago, though, and Farley reads him like a coloring book.

"We both know you'd not spent money on drawing utensils even if you had it." She sits straight and steady, like a soldier ready for rapport. He really adores her for all the times he was allowed to stay. But he is not in the mood to spill the beans. She'll not like it he smooches royal silver.

"He's not my boyfriend. We're not dating. We're just spending time." It's what he tells himself too because of the thought that this is really serious freaks him out.

For a moment they stare at each other. Thomas returns to the clumsy lines on the page. But of course, Farley wouldn't be Farley if shed let it sit.

She's like a dog dragging at a branch. She won't let go. " Not trying to bring him here? As far as I know, you are still homeless."

Bringing a silver into the lair of red rebellion. Wouldn't that be something?

Thomas makes a low noise in the back of his throat. Almost a whine." I don't think you people would get along."

"We people?"She tilts her head a little to the left, blond hair moving along. It's cut sharp and short just beneath her ear, along her chin.

"I love you, but you gotta admit, this group is a bunch of weirdos. It's not just that..we keep it real quiet for now." He dismisses her as calm as possible. The thought makes him smile. "It's cute tho. He's a little geeky. How do you manage?"

"Manage what?" she asks.

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah Diana you keep it real low but everyone with eyes sees there is no Shade without Farley. Like you're Siamese twins. Attached limp by limp. Like leeches suckin- Ew wait. Scratch that. But you get the point."

"I'm not sure. It's complicated. But he isn't-" Her eyes are somewhere in the distance. Looking at something Thomas can't see.  
"Yeah, he's not a bad person." Thomas finishes for her. "Sometimes we can't expect more. I got you."

"I didn't know you could be smart," Farley says. "That boyfriend of yours is doing wonders."  
"Goddammit, he is NOT my boyfriend." Thomas is still mighty proud while he sits back and looks at the lines in the sketchbook.


	4. Thanks for letting me in

Thomas stares at the gate in horror. If he thought the center is the entryway to limbo this is indefinitely worse. The houses look clean, the street looks like someone has scrapped it clean. He can even imagine people bending down to pluck out the tiniest rest of grass that could destroy the perfect look."Changed my mind. Don't really think this is a good idea, pretty boy."

"It'll be fine." Maven answers.

"If anyone sees me you'll be in trouble."

"No one can tell our relationship from one look." Maven huffs. The way he keeps distance Thomas can say it's probably true. It stings a little but it's only right and isn't he the one that always denies the possibility of a boyfriend? The world isn't friendly and it will not take this good.

"And it's not like no Red ever comes here."

"Right, need worker bees to keep the hill up and clean." The thought stings in a very different way. It stirs his disgust and the repulsion he feels for the rich folk.

He's trying at least, Thomas thinks. But they both aren't the least confident.

There's a tightness in Thomas' chest and he wonders why he agreed to come along.

Maybe it's simple. Maybe it's stupid. It all started with them on their bench. That's right, theirs. Thomas enjoys the thought of something shared, a spot, even though he knows it's just sentimental. The bench doesn't have their name on it or anything.

They are leaning against each other. Thomas bites the pencil in his hand, crunching wood in his teeth. He likes the way it feels. The way the pen yields and the wood gives in, forming his toothmarks.

"That's disgusting." Maven exclaims when he first watches the gnawing.

"Know what's disgusting?" Thomas says with a mouthful of pencil. There are tiny pieces of wood in his mouth and it tastes awful. Be he won't say a word. "Seafood. Dog shit on a good and cozy spot in the park. This? Nah, it's calming."

"You'll hurt your teeth."

"And what does a homeless Red teenager care about his teeth?"

It's not one of the good pencils. They just get out if he channels his inner Picasso. He's not pulling the sketchbook out in front of Maven. He can't. Because as much as he likes it, it is still hard. It's a reminder of debt and debt isn't good. Debt is weakness.

He realizes he hasn't even said thank you. He probably never will. For the better. Acknowledged debt is even worse than just taking it. The sketchbook is safely secured in one paper bag he leaves at Farley's. He trusts everyone enough to not steal it. Nothing in there has any value. It's just a dirty sweater and a book.

Maven isn't like fidgeting, he's reading and concentrated. When Thomas studies the curve of his jaw and the way his eyes move he can't deny his attraction. And then he notices how little he really knows.

"I want to know everything about you." Thomas blurts out. By now sometimes Maven's eyes get that look when Thomas spits out words like this like he is just blabbering back and forth in a ridiculous way and Maven puts up with it because that's what you do when you like someone and don't want to disappoint them. Which isn't so untrue. Thomas is aware he has...his moments, to put it mildly. Especially in their relationship. Whatever it might be.

"That's good, I suppose." Maven says.

"Dude." Thomas shakes his head. "You don't get it. I want to know everything. I want to stay. That's scary and strange. And a compliment."

He bailed out on Maven once, and though none of them ever attempted to talk it out, sometimes it still stands between them. It adds another touch of draining anxiety and uncertainty. "I feel very flattered, Thomas, thank you."

"Pff." Thomas makes a very wet and drool filled sound. "Don't believe it? You better should. I'll prove it."

"I'm curious about how you would accomplish that." There's something frail and touching in the uncomfortable way Maven offers the words. Like he isn't used to people being genuinely interested in nothing but him.

Behind all that facade, Thomas understands too well. People never look closely.

"You could tell me about your family. I'm not, eh, pressuring or anything. I mean I could just look up everything anyway, I'm sure there's tons of stuff about your parents. Not like I have internet, but I could go find it. There's still a library and stuff."

The thought of that makes Maven clam up again.

"But I won't," Thomas says in a hurry to stop the gates from closing. "Problem is, I really like you. And I really just wanna know what makes you tick."

"You could just take a look." He says after a long moment of silence.

"Look? I am looking pretty closely. " Thomas lets his eyes wander down meaningful. "At every part of you, by the way. And I like what I see."

"No. We both know that's not how I meant it." It's still utterly fascinating how easy Thomas has it in himself to make the other one uncomfortable. Though he doesn't seem comfortable in his own skin anyway most days. " Don't make me spell it out."

Thomas turns away, staring at the bitten end of the pencil as if it the most fascinating thing he has ever seen. "Are you inviting me up to the hills? Tempting, your Highness."

"I'll regret offering judging by that smug look on your face. But yes."

" Excuse me," he thinks a second about throwing the pencil in the water, but what a waste would that be. Despite the bitten parts, there's still enough on it to use. He slips it into his pockets, where it accompanies a few slips of paper and the wrapper of something he has eaten. "That's my normal face. My smug face looks way more dirty." With a little smile, Thomas leans over. "Thanks, for inviting me and stuff. I'm not sure if I can take the offer. But thanks."

"You didn't burn when you stepped in the center. I am positive you could stand going there. And I'd be there too."

"Well, yeah, wouldn't consider going if you ditched me. "

"It'll take some precaution anyway. Let's discuss this another time."

Maven stands up, and Thomas watches. He's positively surprised when he steals the tiniest of kisses, fluttering and soft like the wings of a butterfly. Thomas' head tilts upwards like a flower to the sun. Who'd known he would settle for something tiny. It's sweet and he isn't good with sweet. It's turning his stomach. He's willing to take it for now, not able to turn away anyway.

"You're cute." Thomas breathes when their lips have long parted. "That was cute."

"For god's sake, Thomas, stop saying that. I'm not a cat."

"Yeah no, cats aren't cute. " Thomas snorts when he sees the wrinkled nose. "You a cat person? Sorry, we can't meet anymore."

And simple as that, the upcoming Friday evening Thomas finds himself stuffed in a bus and then trotting up a too clean paved way under the artificial white lights of lanterns lighting the sidewalk despite the sun just slowly sinking and the pink sky. The gates are scary as hell but no one stops him since he's clearly accompanied.

"It'll be fine." Maven repeats. Thomas rubs his elbow, where the cloth of the hoodie is wearing thin. At least it's only a little dirty. There's a sticky spot on it because along the bus ride someone spilled a smoothie or whatever that bubbly colored monstrosity was all over his seat.

The girl was nice enough about it, but Thomas was too nervous to say much and smiled through her apologies.

Also, it covers the scratches he has from sleeping and climbing fences. He's often squeezing into too tight corners.

"So, you have the house all to yourself?"

"My mother is out of town. My father never comes home on weekends anyway. And my brother leaves on Fridays. "

That's the most Maven has ever said about his family. Despite the fists at his side and the frowning, Thomas already thinks it is worth it he comes up here.

"Popular kid, huh?"

"You've got no idea." Maven mutters, and here's something bitter in his tightly pressed lips and flaring nostrils. There's something Thomas doesn't really get. Sure, his sisters can be a pain in the ass, but he'd throw himself under the bus for them.

But he's not that surprised. That family dynamic seems to be way off.

He leaves the topic alone for now.

They walk in silence. It's not the usual kind. This one hovers and stretches, and it makes Thomas nervous.

There's a little girl in the yard in front of one of the smaller, albeit still monstrous big in Thomas opinion, houses. She has a ball in one of her hands, and her skirt is glittering in the light.

"You got kids up here," Thomas says. Because he has never thought about it. He has never seen a smaller kid in the city, or maybe he just couldn't tell it was silver. Or didn't care. The girl whirls around in her skirt and throws the ball.

She's the same age as Thomas younger sister.

He stops and stares.

"I didn't think you were in need of explanations for basic biology." Maven stops in his tracks reluctantly. "Or did you think silver people grow on trees?"

"No, no that's not it." Thomas shakes his head and tears his gaze away. "I've looked up at the hills so many times but all I've seen wasn't. I don't know, dude, real. But you got families too. Sometimes it's easy to forget that, I guess."

Something flickers behind Maven's eyes, but it quickly hides away again and he turns to walk.

Thomas follows. "Why were you looking like that? Did I something wrong?"

For a while, Maven doesn't answer, concentrated to guide them through small streets and sidewalks, along neatly trimmed bushes and high fences buzzing with electricity. When he stops, they are hidden behind metal and green leaves, curling along a high fence.

The path is small and leads between two houses. It's not made for cars or even more than one person. They fill the gap now that they stand next to each other.

"No, you didn't do something wrong." Maven whispers. "You have a good heart, Thomas. It's very admirable."

A good heart. Thomas wants to laugh but he just snorts before he reaches over and touches Maven's cheek. His fingertips draw a line down the finely structured bones and the soft skin before they come to rest. They curl along Maven's jaw gently.

"People think I say the weirdest things, but look at you, pretty boy. Nothing on good ol' I is admirable."

The moment the pale finger clutch his makes his breath hitch."Would you be here with me if that was true?"

Thomas isn't trusting his voice. Or the words that might come out. He isn't trusting anything, now that his heart is galloping in his chest. All the thoughts he can gather are primarily sugar coated or very, very dirty, and he doesn't want any of them out.

He's staring. He can feel the way it's making Maven mortified because usually, Thomas is all air and words. Thomas pulls his hand back.

"How far, Mave?" He coughs the words out. They are kinda hard when all he really wants to do is push his not boyfriend up against the fence. But that would not be taking it slow.

"Almost there."

" Lead the way."

He hates this place for what it is and what it isn't. Moving along feels strangely similar to moving through the Stilts, but for all the different reasons.

There's a long driveway leading to the biggest house Thomas has ever been close to in reality. It could probably fit in a lot of those poor excuses of apartments in the Stilts or downtown.

A black eye stares down from the gate.

Thomas takes a step back but Maven is unfazed. "I shut the cameras off before I picked you up." He says. "I checked if anyone was home and there are no cars. It's probably still for the better if you don't use the front door."

"That's how I like it, right through-"

Maven cuts him off sober and straight. "If you say something about a backdoor I'll never talk to you again."

Thomas chuckles. "It's like you have known me all my life, Mave."

It all screams trespassing on him. But he's a good trespasser. He's learned much about sneaking around and not getting caught these past weeks.

Sure, sometimes it's not working, but most times it does.

He's wrong and doesn't fit in with the neatly trimmed grass and cobbles. Everything is glass and black and white like someone drained it out of every color.

Maven opens a glass door and Thomas slips inside, tiptoeing inside a shining and very clean room. Judging by the unused stove and the silver fridge he landed in the kitchen.

It feels colder. Thomas thinks of the wooden planks that are the kitchen cabinet at his families home, at dust dancing in sunshine, and his mother over a stirring pot.

That's what a kitchen is supposed to look like. Not this metal monster.

"Your shoes." Is all Maven says and Thomas slips out of his boots just to feel the cold ground under his naked toes.

It feels like some weird alternative reality to actually be here.

The living room is a waste of open space. There are one or two pictures, shining in clean silver frames. Thomas takes a peek at one and sees Maven, only slightly younger, and his supposedly older brother. They don't look as much alike as Thomas and his sisters, but he's not an expert on genetics, and so he just studies their relaxed faces. Uh, whoever made that picture clearly has gotten both their good sides, ridiculous how good they look. The popular kid, Thomas thinks. All right. If I ever see meet you, I know at least you got a nice crooked smile. The other is one of those family pictures that weird Thomas out and remind him of a horror movie, with old black and white pictures of a woman on a chair and a dude behind her, as a story gets told about curses and madness.

He just takes a shuddering short look at the stiff faces and at Mavens mother in blue and moves back.

He steps into the hallway and follows the white rabbit. Or the blue hooded boy, in that case.

At the end of the hallway, Maven steps through a door. Thomas follows and feels the metal of the handle. The door makes no sound as it swings open.

"Ha." Is all Thomas makes as he looks around the room. It's very Maven. It's clean, but there are papers and comics stacked everywhere, and the top shelves are hanging full of stuff from video games or said comics. There's some kind of banner hanging from behind the desk, and Thomas whistles through his teeth when he steps closer.

"What?" Maven asks, a little irritated. He looks as pale and nervous as Thomas feels.

"This room is like a nerdcastle. I knew it the moment I saw you."

"So what? If you want to make fun, get it out of your system."

Thomas makes a long face. "Mave, pretty boy, I live in a dumpster, I am not qualified to make fun of hobbies."

Maven lifts his eyebrow.

"You actually live in a dumpster?"

Thomas drops down on the bed like a stone, without even asking, leaving his bag and his boots in front of it. It's soft and irritating. He hasn't slept in a real bed for a long time. "Yeah, sometimes. It's warm in there. Better than the open road."

He stretches all his limbs as long as he can, destroying the neatly made bed and pushing the blanket away in the process. His sleeve gets tangled up and the angry red scratches look worse than they feel on the tanned skin.

"Nice room," he says.

"Thanks." Maven sits down next to him.

All in all, this is going along smoother than he expected.

There's still the matter of him getting out here in one piece, but Thomas tells himself he'll think of something later. Improvise or something.

It smells nice, the pillow he pushes his face into, that is.

"Where did you get those scratches?"

"Fought a raccoon."

The look is mildly displeased. Thomas rolls his eyes.

"All right no I didn't wrestle a raccoon. Would be a better story tho."

Maven leans over him, and Thomas blinks and watches him, too lazy to get up.

"Relax," Thomas chuckles when he feels the careful examining hands on his arm and he's glad Maven wasn't there when the hobos beat him up for a warm place to sleep. " It's not like I'll drop dead. You can be so fuzzy."

Maven makes another indifferent noise, but it's good-natured this time.

"Someone has to, and you're not caring for yourself."

Thomas takes a deep breath. It's like people expect him to tug his tail and run home to his family. He's promised to show them all. Maven hasn't pressed the matter for a while. Not since Thomas meltdown over the sketchbook. But now, with them both on the bed and Thomas staring at the white ceiling, it's getting under his skin.

"Okay, getting me stuff is one thing, and it's still not going to be a regular, because I swear, I don't want anything you have to buy. But I am able to live on my own. So stop being a party pooper and chill. Seriously."

The bed shifts beside him and the warmth of the hand lingering on his arm is gone.

There's a moment of rummaging before Thomas decides to get up and see what this is about. He stares at Maven pulling out a shirt.

"Is this because I am sticky? It's a one-time thing." Thomas stares at the shirt. There's a figure printed on it. " Did you know the character was supposed to be red? But that was obviously a foul apple. So they decided to redesign-"Mavens eyes watch his every move." What?"

"Nothing."

"I don't live under a rock, it's just a ghetto. Or a garbage disposal." Thomas feels the need to defend himself. " And my sister is kind of into old games. She's cool. You'd like her. You gonna give the shirt to me or what?"

"It was in a collectors edition and I got it two numbers too big." Maven hands the shirt over. "Also, I am lending it to you so better take care."

Thomas appreciates that lending thing. It means there's no gift and no debt. When Maven isn't looking he takes a sniff and inhales the pleasant smell. The shirt smells clean but someone has clearly worn it for a short time. Probably to check how big it is or how it fits. Is that weird? Is smelling a shirt weird?

Ah, who cares about weird anyway.

"Thanks, Mave."

It's not just for the shirt. It's for letting him in. For staying willingly.

It's for that moment in the alley and the kiss on the bench.

If Thomas was sure this is the right moment, he would just straight up confess his love, or whatever that feeling that makes him come back for more every day is. And probably make Maven turn away or clam up.

A thank you will have to do.

He's painfully aware of the ribs piercing through his skin and the hip bones standing out sharply when he slips out of his hoodie. He knows those blue eyes probably see every scar and the hollow of skin, scratched and bruised. It's nothing Thomas wants to see and he's glad there isn't a mirror nearby.

Crossed arms watching Maven takes it all in, and Thomas doesn't even try to turn away when he puts on the too big shirt.

"Wanna just hang out in your room? Or show me around? Ooohh, please tell me there is something over the top in the basement. Like, a pool or a whatever rich people have."

"A pool is the best you come up with?"

"What," Thomas asks inquisitively. "Is better than a pool?"

Maven shrugs. "Follow me and maybe you'll find out."

"Dude, now you HAVE to show me."

The house is big and despite his, prejudice Thomas sees it's what every person should have. A roof over their head. It still feels too empty and too big, and there's so many unnecessary stuff in it. He also learns a lot. Though they don't talk constant about Mavens family, there are bits and pieces Thomas can pick up.

"So your brother is busy. And he won't be back today."

"I already told you." Maven bristles. He resembles something spiky.

Thomas follows wordlessly for a moment.

His naked toes are feeling cold when they step over the dark wood and black tiles that fill the hallways and rooms. "I kind of don't get the deal with you and your brother. Is that a love-hate thing?"

Maven presses his lips together to a thin line before he answers. "He's not really my brother. Only half. His mother died."

Thomas sighs, giving it one last try. "That's terrible. But doesn't answer my question."

"I don't have a simple answer." Maven says and turns away. As if that settles anything.

In the end, there IS a pool. Thomas rolls up the legs of his jeans and dips his feet in. The water is definitely warmer than his last showers or the ice-cold streams of muddy water in the train station toilets. And it's cleaner. There are small lights on the sides of the pool, pointing white lights, and it's the only light in the room. His feet splash a little and draw lines and circles back and forth.

"Want to take a swim?"

"I'm not really a great swimmer. Never liked it much."

Thomas blows a strand of hair out of his eyes and sinks his legs even more into the water, up to the ankles. "You know, for a rich kid, you're not very adventurous. I mean apart from the day you decided to burn down a house."

"You're right." Maven puts his hands in his pockets, shoulders drawn up.

Thomas gets up and almost slips on the wet tiles. "That wasn't, ugh, I didn't wanna sound mean."

"No, it's okay," Maven's eyes get a tinge bigger when Thomas pushes the shirt over his head.

"What? It's made for swimming. So I swim."

"Knock yourself out, towels are over there" Maven stands very still on the furthest corner from the pool. "I prefer to watch if you don't mind."

"Yeah," Thomas clicks his tongue and throws his pants away. He remembers jumping into the river with his sisters once, but this is something else. He really doesn't want to know how thin and strained he looks and makes sure to get in the water as fast as possible, even though he still wears his underwear. "I bet you do."

Thomas holds his breath as much as he can and dives in. The water isn't shallow enough for his feet to reach the ground. His ears make a weird sound before it's all quiet. There are only water and his heartbeat, and he keeps it as long as he can. Ducking under as his body is floating up. Things would be easier if he could just stay underwater forever. For a while, he repeats the diving until his eyes burn because he has opened them in the chlorine to many times. Then he just floats along, lazy, blinking into the half dark room. Despite his dislike for the water, Maven has settled by the edge of the pool, head tugged on his knees. He's not looking at anything in particular, quiet and somehow really lonely. Which doesn't make things easier when Thomas is floating merely a foot away.

Thomas takes two long strokes and makes it to the edge too. Water throws up little waves.

"I really didn't mean to come off wrong." The small white lights reflected by the water make Mavens eyes very blue. Thomas leans his head on the edge and smiles. "I like the way you are."

"I appreciate that, Thomas." Their hands find each other, searching the tiles for a moment, hesitating, and the grip is reassuring and gentle. "For the most part, I like the way you are too."

"The most part?" Thomas snorts and grips Maven's hand hard.

"Don't dare to push me in."

"The most part?" he repeats, still not letting go. " That actually makes sense. I never said I was anything but terrible."

"That is not what I meant by that." Maven looks mildly alarmed. " If you push me in I'm going to be very, very-"

Thomas makes a grimace and pulls his arm away. "I'm not that kind of an ass." He splashes some small waves in Mavens general direction. The only answer to that is the feet retreating even more. "For the most part."

"Oh, Thomas."

"Whatever. Pfff." Thomas pushes himself under water again, and though it really hurts, he opens his eyes again, seeing Maven's blurred form over the surface, staring down.

It's a little like they are always in water, there are so many blurry edges. But there's still time to get out and have a clearer look, isn't there? And this is definitely progress. A lot of it.

Thomas mother always said he was impatient and it's true, that is why he wants to slow down now.

For a while, Thomas just floats around again on his back, not really swimming.

The water throws waves back and forth the tiles. His eyes are starting to hurt, but he blinks it away as good as he can, not willing to get out.

The chiming of a phone breaks the silence.

"I've got to take that." Maven says and stands up. He clenches his teeth for the fraction of a second and Thomas knows exactly who's calling.

"Yes?" Maven says and Thomas makes a face before he decides to jump out of the water, making a small wave as he climbs up the ladder.

"No, I'm alone. " Maven says before he glares over to Thomas, who's just tiptoeing to the famed towels. "Well, he's around somewhere, but I am alone at the pool. No, I didn't. No, you know neither of us likes water that much.

Thomas can't understand the questions from the other side of the call. He tries to look sympathetic as he rubs his hair and neck with the towel.

"No, nothing happened. And I am quite sure nothing will. Yes, mother, I haven't forgotten."

When he steps closer, Maven makes a dismissive wave, almost shoo-in Thomas away like he's a pigeon on the sidewalk.

Thomas shakes his head and is unfazed by the enthusiastic shoo-in. People shoo-in doesn't work since he's twelve anymore.

"Yes, I would have called if that was the case, but really, there's no reason to worry." He snakes an arm around Maven's waist. There's a little-concentrated pause as Maven tries to keep his breath.

"No, no reason at all."

That's right, Thomas mouths before he settles for a hug because Maven looks like he needs it.

"Can I call you back later? I think I might have heard something, I just want to make sure-"

There's a discussion. It's civilized, but awful formal, like a talk with a lawyer. Five excuses and two more squeezing hugs later the phone call ends.

The button on the phone is pressed with more force than necessary. "What was that about?" Maven hisses." What if she had heard you?"

"I didn't say a word," Thomas says honestly like he just got called as a witness in a murder case. "And for a moment you looked like you would freak out, so I figured hugging would do no harm."

"I am not freaking out. I just don't like lying to my mother."

"Well then don't." Thomas shrugs leaning against Maven's shoulder. "Go tell the world you're dallying with the enemy or whatever."

Maven doesn't answer. It's the answer Thomas expected all along.

"Yeah we both know it's not happening," Thomas whispers.

Mavens arms are holding back onto him tightly. "But it is. This is real, isn't it?"

The desperation seeps right through the embrace right into Thomas' bones. "You ask me? I don't know." He presses his face against the warm neck, breathing in deep. If it's real, it's getting scary. But it's too much to handle even now. So does that really make any difference? For a moment, Thomas only closes his eyes and feels a hammering heartbeat under his nose. "Feels real. And smells good."

Maven makes a stifled sound. "You're getting cold."

"Are you telling me to get dressed? Gee, that's a first. "

The rest of the evening is almost normal. It's weirdly enough the most boring and normal thing ever. They settle on the couch and eat, turning on the big Tv. And though Thomas isn't getting comfortable on the couch because it's stiff and smells too new and too clean he's okay with it. Because he extends his arm around Maven's shoulder and gets to make some stupid comments about the movie they are watching.

"I don't have a degree in something fancy and dropped outta school." Thomas snorts and his fingers twitch on Maven's shoulder. "But even dumbass me knows that's not how any of this works!"

"Wait," Maven's eyes turn slowly. "You did not complain about the inconsistency of magic when the villain destroyed the stronghold."

"Because that was cool," Thomas says, looking like he needs to explain the most obvious thing in the world. "We know where this will end. The good guy gets the girl and the bad gets thrown in a volcano or eaten by a dragon or whatever. Freaking boring."

Maven makes an indifferent noise and turns away. Thomas doesn't let it go.

"I want a movie where the Dark Lord of Chaos and destruction gets tired of the good guys being shiny and clever and just goes full rampage, nuking them with magic instead of being stupid."

"And then the world ends." Maven comments drily.

Thomas grips his shoulder, pulling him against his side. Warmth is spreading through his shirt where they touch. There's a long pause and a nervous hesitated breath before he feels Maven curl up on his chest. His hair tickles Thomas chin as he settles his head.

"Nah, it's just getting unfair for the small people," Thomas whispers, breathing in deep. For once, it's calming him. Also, Maven smells nice. "Not like we don't know that yet."

Eventually, the flickering lights of the Tv retreat into the background and there's more huddling up together and a very long kiss. It's the best thing ever, with no awkward pause. Just two mouths and eager hands.

The couch is still awful and uncomfortable. Thomas almost rolls off and down on the floor when he miscalculates a move. The pool has damaged his eyes and they burn. He doesn't care.

There's more kissing after that. And the warmth of arms holding onto him. There are whispered voices and some bad jokes. Somehow they fall half asleep along the process, curled up and limbs tangled, and when Thomas notices how late it is, he regrets even looking at the clock, but he knows it's for the best.

" Next time I'll stay." He promises though he isn't sure how to accomplish that.


	5. Would you?

"Tommy," Feeble Will Whistle looks surprised when Thomas slips in and the doorbell rings. Nothing much has changed in the pawnshop since Thomas stepped in the last time. It's still a poor excuse, and dirty inside. But since Thomas is here for another business altogether he doesn't really care. The real stuff is under the counter, in the back.

Will leans over the counter. "Heard you were in jail."

Thomas appreciates the worry hidden in that words. Will hasn't called him Tommy since he was thirteen, the first time he has stepped into the pawn shop, throwing a necklace on the table.

"Got lucky." Thomas scratches his chin." Or maybe not, depending who you ask. They had some paperwork and I got off to counseling shit. "

" That poor counselor," Will mutters in his beard. "Pity him knowing your big mouth."

"You are supposed to root _for me_." Thomas insists."Anyway, no jail. But got something for you."

Thomas shakes his messenger bag. It makes a little rattling sound.

Now there's interest and Will looks around before his head points Thomas to the back room.

It's business as usual. He tries to barter but Whistle doesn't budge. It's still more money than Thomas held in his hands for weeks.

It's all over quick.

When he steps into the front of the pawnshop he sees a familiar face. She has some very knotted headphones in her ears and stands in front of the door. With two steps Thomas has reached the handle and pulls it open.

"Hey, Barrow." He says. The girls head whips up, brown hair send flying, staring up at him. She relaxes a little when she recognizes his dirty black form. Her eyes see every hole in his sleeves and he wonders if Shade told her anything about him.

"You're back in the Stilts?" she asks, pulling out the cheap headphones, ripping at the cords. He wouldn't care or notice. But he's hanging with the rich kids now and the difference is plain easy to spot and leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

He shrugs. "Only for money. I like the open road." They never really talk. She's someone's sister, and that one time keeping her ass out of the flames was just coincidence. " Siblings fine? How's your sister? What was her name, eh, Gisa?"

There's something protective in the way she lifts her head and shoulders. "Yes. All fine."

"Cool." He's almost out of the friendly small talk. And he sucks at it, as Maven points out often. "Real cool. Eh, Whistle's busy, brought him something. May take a moment."

"I can wait. Not like I have somewhere to be."

"You sure?" he mocks."No fancy invitation up to the hills today?"

"I decline those since they don't serve my favorite kaviar anymore."

Thomas laughs. She seems pleased enough that he does. There's an underlying bitterness in both of them. It's grim and he feels better knowing he's not alone with it.

When his laughter is over, there's silence again.

They shuffle their feet, not looking at each other. Thomas makes a grimace.

"Thanks for helping me the last time." She finally says. Thomas feels a genuine little smile creeping on his face, he still tries to play it down.

"All fine. Who wouldn't have helped?"

She shakes her head and they both know the answer.

"Look who's here," Will says returning to the counter. "First Thomas and now the little Barrow. Must be a good day for nimble fingers."

Thomas decides to take his leave. When he steps past the girl, he's surprised she stops him.

"See you around," Mare Barrow says.

"Yeah. Bye." Thomas gives her a wave with his hand and steps out of the pawnshop.

His parents live close by. Down the road and by the river. He wouldn't even have to say hi. Maybe just sneak a glance at the window. But what if someone sees? He doesn't have any explanation. He never had.

He dropped out of school. They weren't angry. Just a little sad. _You are a smart kid, Tommy,_ his mother used to say. _Don't waste it. You're so young._

He got in trouble. Black eyes and bruises. _You're an idiot,_ his sister had said, shoving him lightly. _Let me take a look._

He almost got in jail. _Why did you do it?_ His father had asked. _I don't understand you. But I want to, really._

And now he can't even find a roof over his head.

Without a word, Thomas turns around and moves to the train station. He sees Mare Barrow again, a short glimpse, but she isn't exactly looking like she wants to chat, judging by that angry spitting.

* * *

"Wanna eat something? I'll pay." Thomas puffs as proud as he can.

It's autumn now, the cold air and the rain make as much clear. In the morning there's still orange light from a warming sun, but it gets tangled in fog or spiderwebs. The webs are wet with little drops of water, hanging in a row like precious pearls.

Thomas doesn't have a real coat anymore so he wears two shirts under his hoodies.

"That's not necessary."

"Yeah no, it is." Thomas insists.

"If this is still about owing me, " Maven says, unsure, and there's a crack in his perfect facade. Thomas forgets sometimes how different he looks when they aren't alone. Surrounded by other people he's downright cold in comparison to the warm hands and the fluttering kisses.

"Maybe it is. A little. "Thomas looks around. When he is sure no one is watching, he nudges Maven's hand for the slightest of seconds. "But I want to. So let me."

They walk in silence over a head light. Someone bumps into Thomas and he makes a step to the side. When their shoulders brush, Maven flinches back a little.

They agreed on this without ever needing to tell the other. Keep your distance, the public doesn't need to know.

It's real as long as no one is watching. It's what's good and healthy and safe. Then why does he even bother asking himself why it's stinging a little?

It's not like Thomas wants anything. He has little expectations. Every day they stick together is more than he thought they would ever last.

"You can give up control once in a while, you know," Thomas whispers.

Maven looks positively upset behind his contained face at that accusation. "I am not trying to control you."

"I know." Thomas shrugs. "You're still bad at letting go. You have your habits."

"Says the one running away."

"I apologized!" His voice is louder than expected and some bypasser turns his head. "I mean," Thomas lowers his gaze and turns the volume down. "Kinda."

Maven ponders. Then he nods. "Okay. You pay. I'm not really hungry though."

"How about you and me have a coffee." Thomas tries to sound smooth. "Talk a little. And see where it leads."

"You're ridiculous." Maven says but sounds good-natured, there's the slightest of flushes on his ears.

Thomas makes a little airfist, only for himself. And the other bypassers, maybe. But sometimes an airfist is the only appropriate reaction. " Yiss, coffee date. I feel like an adult. See it's not so hard to let it go."

At the words 'let it go' Thomas thinks of his little sister and a very particular movie she watched daily. It's making him a little sad, but there's nothing to do. He should be at least kind of happy right now.

"I was only insisting because you never-" Maven stops to give Thomas am incredulous look. "Are you humming _Frozen_?"

"You don't have younger siblings so you won't understand the impact this movie had on my life, Mave."He has started it, now he needs to finish it. He thinks of his sister whirling around and pestering with an 'again, again' and hums the tune.

Life is really not so bad, yes? At least the view is alright, Thomas thinks when he holds the cups and steps back from the counter in the coffeeshop, not really watching where to set his feet. Probably not the brightest idea with steaming coffee in his hands. His eyes slip to the back of the room instead and he smiles seeing Maven almost pressing himself into the corner of the table, as far away from the window as stares at his phone.

That's the moment he bumps right into something spiky.

At first, he thinks its the edge of a desk or something other metallic. Turns out it's a girl and the spiky part is her belt.

The coffee splatters over the brim of the cup and leaves a burning sensation on his hand and a stain on her grey shirt.

"What the-" She turns around and Thomas is positive he's the only ugly person in this part of town. The girl is super pretty, in a grungy sort of way, with that spikes and the combat boots. The most noticeable thing is her long hair. It's as gray as her shirt. "Fuck!"

And she's really pissed.

"Eh, really sorry." Thomas straightens his cups and steps back. "Nice hair, by the way."

Whatever she's expected it wasn't a compliment.

She still looks like she wants to flay him alive.

"Eyes," she hisses. "You got them. Use them. What a fucking-" She clenches the stained spot on her shirt and looks like she's going to punch him.

Anger issues much? He wants to ask but then again he spilled a hot drink on her and he's sure it sucks.

There's another girl with her. Seriously, what's in that water those silver people drink? If Thomas was into girls, he's sure he'd crush hard. Not like they'd be interested, one way or another. The way the red head leans over to the one with the murder look makes his spider senses tingle.

"He said he's sorry, Eve, let it be." Her voice is quiet and friendly and it has some effect.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a familiar blue figure. He's weary, but Thomas doesn't need someone to fight his fights. Especially not over spilled coffee.

"As I said, really sorry." He turns around and leaves before the girl decides she really just wants to punch him. He meets Maven halfway through the room and nudges him back to the table with his elbow.

"I know that look," Thomas says, setting the cups down and cleaning his hand on his shirt. "Don't get fuzzy."

Maven takes his spot in the corner, crossing his arms."I am not fuzzy."

Thomas shrugs and his fingers drum on the wooden table. "Was my fault, really, I apologized and that's it."

"I know her," Maven says, taking his cup and glancing back at the girls. "She can be rather difficult."

"Yeah, lucky her girlfriend is there."

"They are just friends as far as I know."

Thomas almost spits out his coffee. It's more of a pound sugar with added caffeine. "Yeah," he coughs." No. Nope."

Maven's eyebrow shoots up.

"No," Thomas repeats. "Nope. That's a date. These girls are bumping uglies sooner or later."

"See, "Maven isn't convinced. "According to you, all the people that hang out get romantically involved at some point. And while I admire your imagination, that's not how things work. So pardon me if I keep my reservation."

"Oh, coffee makes him use fancy words." Thomas shakes his head."How would you know how it works?"

There's that look again, like Thomas just blurps words that are silly. "I'm not some robot, Thomas."

I know, Thomas thinks. But sometimes you act the part.

He pushes the thought into the back of his head.

"Ok, simple question. Be honest, yeah?" Leaning his head on his hand, he watches closely.

Maven waits and Thomas clears his throat. "If I had gotten in a fight with the spiky girl. And you really cross the room and were coming over all the way. Would you have said something?"

There's a frown again and then he's all lost to Thomas. Like he's underwater again.

"I don't know." He finally says.

Thomas takes another sip of the sugar. "I guess that's better than a no. I'll live with it."

They leave when more people get in and it's getting too crowded for either their taste.

When Thomas pays, Maven stares at his phone again.

They take the usual trip along the river and down the way to the benches.

"What was in that coffee? Sprinkled diamonds?" Thomas feels betrayed. He doesn't even like coffee that much. "Who pays that on a regular base for measly wifi and too hard chairs?"

"You wanted to go and you paid the price."

"Yeah well, on the bright side, "Thomas' mouth says, directly blubbering out his inner thoughts. "everything is less horrible when I'm with you."

There's the tiniest of smiles spreading over Maven's face. Thomas takes it and puts it somewhere safe, where no one can ever take it from him.


	6. Something you love

The weather is bad. It's raining, and not in the pouring way but in a drizzle, wearing people thin, continuing the whole day. The sky is white and grey clouds, not one bit sun.

Tiny drops of ice cold water are eating through Thomas shirt as he pulls his hood up, closer over his wet hair.

It's bad if you don't have somewhere to go.

The water gets right into all his pockets, drenching all his belongings.

He's glad he has had some common sense and left the most important things in a warm and dry apartment.

It's slowly becoming a problem he's got nowhere to go. If the weather continues like this, he'll be sick in no time if he's not careful. There are several options. He despises every single one of them.

It provides a different problem all together. With no where to go, it's difficult to have dates. And oh yes, he finally has reached the point to convince himself this IS a very strange relationship. Not like he'd brag about his boyfriend or wouldn't dare to say the word out loud. He does it one time when he's at Farley's.

It's more subconscious than anything. "Yeah well, that's my boyfriend's-" he says and feels equally good as bad.

He doesn't discuss it. It's kind of out of question with Maven's status and all. And maybe, only a tiny maybe,he feels like Maven should figure it out for himself.

Summer was the perfect time to just wander around. With the autumn storms, the rain and the cold approaching, it's not that easy anymore. It means spending time in closed , confined stores or coffee shops because it's warm. But that also means no touching and another long list of debts. It also means crowds and if there's anything none of them like it's too many people in one place.

Or it means not meeting really at all.

Thomas is dreading the thought and takes the debt.

Thomas tries to imagine him at his home, in the tiny room he shares with his sister, and he has a good laugh. It'd be as mismatched as a frog in a desert. That boy probably never had to share anything. He's not used to have something worn down handed over. Thomas is lucky he got to have some stuff for his own sake when his sister was all dress and skirt phase.

He doesn't wear the shirt Maven has given him very often. He uses it as a pillow or just hugs it tightly, leaning against a cold wall.

It has lost its scent by now, smelling more of smoke and sweat and dirt , but if he closes his eyes he can pretend.

Sometimes Thomas is reminded of his own incompetence when they are hanging out.

"What's all that about?" Thomas stares at the notes spread out along the table, fine handwriting curling over paper. He crumbles a bit of his cookie over the free side of the table.

While eating, Thomas watches Maven's hand sprawl numbers and words over a free corner of a paper.

"It's called studying. " There are dark, grey circles under Maven's eyes. Thomas meant to ask. He couldn't bring himself to in fear it would ruin anything. "And since you wanted to meet, I'll have to do it here."

"Oh yes, right , you are still in that awful prison." He thinks of the day he dropped out. Felt good back then. Now that he stares at the notes , he can't even make sense of it. He feels like a little child. It stings.

He tries to cover it up by stuffing the next cookie into his mouth. Maven still notices. Even a fool could see that it's nagging on him. He looks at all the words and numbers and he can read them, but it doesn't mean he understands.

Maven's hands stop moving and he waits for Thomas to say something.

"I don't get any of that" Thomas admits while scratching the side of his nose. "You're smart. That's good."

"You've got potential , Thomas."

"Yeah," he tries to smile it away. "No one is better at pissing people off."

"No." Maven puts the pencil away and leans his head on his hand. His hair is still slightly damp from the rain and curls along his neck. "Your drawings. You could take lessons."

Thomas brushes the crumbles away, trying to keep his hands busy. Hope is nothing good. He' ll end like all the other faces, forgotten in the gutter. It's sweet and nice that Maven wants to encourage him.

"I'm not half bad but that's a bit much, don't you think?"

"In fact I don't," Maven says. In the grey light he looks as pale as the clouds in the sky and Thomas is really worried. Maybe he's just caught a cold, but then again he looked like shit before, when they were still new. "Remember the one you drew me last week?"

"The bird one? With the flames? Yeah, can't forget. Feathers are tough shit, especially when there's so much shadows to add." He tilts his head. "You still have it?"

Maven knits his brows. Then he opens the notebook he's had sprawled out before him the whole time. Thomas stares at the picture his very own hands have made. He's even made the effort to put it in a sheet to protect it from the weather and stuff.

Protect something Thomas made .

He wants to lean over and just kiss him.

"Maybe I will take lessons." He says, not to disappoint. " Some day."

Their legs touch under the table. None of them flinches back.

The weather clears up after a few days at least. It's still getting colder. The bench remains a sanctuary. Thomas stops by every day on his route, even if he's alone he just sits by the sound of the river and let's the bad feelings go. It's a little like meditation, but he's got no patience for that.

He's not expecting anyone the next time he stops by and is surprised to see a somehow familiar silhouette on the bench. He's seen her only from distance, but she's recognizable enough. Even if she wasn't the mother of the boy he's in love with, he would have seen her on television or in the newspaper. When it comes to fame, the big fishes make a lot of their appearance. She's one of those, brightly coloured and always in the center. He's sure she enjoys it.

She sits on the bench like a queen. Thomas stares at her profile, her legs in boots , heels ready to stab his heart. She's wearing a some sort of suit, hidden under an expensive looking coat and her hair is up in a almost artistic braid, all business-like. Like she just flew back from some fancy meeting.

Thomas still can't move and stares blank.

Her eyes are as blue as Mavens. But they don't hold a quantum of comfort for him.

This eyes could as well belong to a predator. Ready to break his neck and eat him with his blood still hot.

"I started to wonder if you would even show up," she says, almost casual as if they are old friends. Thomas swallows hard. " Sit with me, will you, Thomas? We have much to discuss."

She's scaring him to a point where he needs to chin up to just move. It's ridiculous.

"What," he says and finally sits down as far away as he can. The distance is not enough. Even on the moon he'd be too close. "Do you want from me?"

"Well," she smiles."For instance, we could talk about you and my son."

She's _defiling_ the bench with her presence. It was a good place. Now it'll never be again.

"Is there anything to say?" Thomas feels his heart cramp in his chest. "We are just friends."

She exhales air in a perfect little mocking laugh. It's the most hostile thing anyone has ever done to Thomas. And he's been beaten up repeatedly.

"Let's play honest, boy, shall we?"

He doesn't answer.

"I've watched you," she says it like complimenting his shirt. _Like it's what normal people do._ "For quite some time now."

Of course, you did, he thinks. He was warned early enough this might happen. Well, not THIS. He never thought she'd just sniff him out and chat.

The prospect of a hitman doesn't seem far off.

"At first I was sure you were just exploiting my son. But this was never about money. You felt uncomfortable every time he tried to spent money on you."

"That's good old me." He tries to sound chipper. In truth, he wants to vomit. "Don't say you thought you could buy me off, Mrs. Merandus."

"People have their price, be it money," her eyes are dangerous blue shards. They are ready to cut him. "Or something else entirely."

"That's a very.." he searches for the right words. Come on, Thomas, your mother didn't raise a stupid. Well, maybe she did, you still know some things. "Eh, practical attitude, Ma'am."

"I appreciate you are at least trying to imitate manners. My son's influence, I am sure."

Well, he knew she'd hate him. He feels like that's going to be the only thing they agree on. Mutual dislike for the other.

"I had good parents, y'know." he feels the need to defend his upbringing in front of the embodiment of his bitterness.

"Believe me when I say I know all about your family." There's danger lurking behind her voice. The cold is almost radiating and Thomas feels the visceral need to flinch.

She smoothes over a crinkle in her sleeve and looks back at him. She might as well see right through his face. "I didn't quite understand his interest, but then again, it was but a matter of time until some act of defiance. And who would be a better match, better to test my patience than a poor Red boy, being estranged from his family and living on the streets?"

"You think that's what this is?" Thomas is conflicted, caught between laughing and shaking, and so it's a little nervous chuckle that escapes his mouth. "Some rebellious shtick to piss parents off?"

"What do you think, boy?" She tilts her head ,her careful braided hair glittering and she reminds him of a peacock. All pridea and glory, intimidating." That you'll just need to confess your love and you live happily ever after?"

Her words hunt down something inside him. They gnash it between their sharp teeth and leave him bleeding. "Yeah, no. I know that's not how it works."

"We can agree on that," She crosses her legs. The dark blue fabric of her coat rustles as its parts. "You are nothing special, just a face in a million. Below average, even. When he grows up he'll forget you. Because we both know this will not last."

A wave in the pool, a flinching shoulder, an 'I don't know'.

"You'll never be _enough_ , my dear boy." She sounds so certain. And it's like she has pulled all his doubts right out of his head. "Not for yourself. Not for your family. And not for my son. Spare yourself the pain and make it a clean cut."

Maybe she's right. It's not like she says anything he hasn't told himself yet. _My life is a mess. I'm not good enough. Better no one sees what trouble I make this time._

He can't move. He just watches her, beside him but so very above.

"I'd suggest you take your leave, Thomas. Go back to your family, I am sure they miss you deeply."

There's hurt, but also a very protective feeling rising up and flaring. It makes him straighten up. Half defeated but still struggling to keep up.

"Or else, Ma'am?"

"The world is a cruel place, " she says, looking out at the river. "Especially for someone so young and lost."

The thinly veiled threat gets right under his skin. Her hand stops him, finely manicured nails and silver rings.

"I don't expect any answers." She gets up, heels clicking. "Just think about it, boy. And make a wise choice."

With that, she takes her leave and he just watches, not able to say anything that convinces her or himself that at least some parts of what she just told him aren't true.

With a graceful stride, she pulls her coat behind her like a cape, cool breeze sending it fluttering. Then she's gone.

Her words, however, remain at his side.

"Do you think I am exploiting you?" Thomas asks, voice low. They stand between the shelves in the bookstore, hidden from view. He's still not too fond of books or reading, but it's so quiet and peaceful. When he gets close enough to the bookshelves, it smells a little of fresh printed paper and ink. A smell Thomas has learned to appreciate. He'll always associate that with Maven.

"Exploiting me?" Maven looks up from some flashy neon envelope in his hand. "No one was ever more allergic to friendly gestures and gifts than you."

Thomas sighs. "I mean, like emotionally? I can be pretty touchy."

"Not in public, at least." Maven looks back and turns a page.

 _This will not last._

It's a very persistent voice. Truth is he knows it. It's too peaceful. It's too good and too much.

"Am I just a phase?" The words slip out of his mouth before he can stop them.

Maven frowns at him. "Come again?"

"A phase," Thomas repeats. "Like a piercing or blue hair."

"I am not discussing this in the middle of a store." There's something mildly horrified in the way Maven watches him fidget around. Like he cannot believe Thomas is willing to cross that border.

"You know, if I was just that, I'd be cool with it. But you could just tell me." He makes a nervous sound in the back of his throat. The doubt eats through every thought. It's unsettling and will not stop. "It's not like I have any right to demand something."

"What is wrong with you today?" Maven asks brow furrowed slightly.

Thomas shakes his head.

What is he supposed to answer at that?

 _Is your mother nuts?_ Nah, no good start.

 _Oh, by the way, your mother told me very subtle I could be lying in a filthy ditch soon._

Is she right though?

There aren't many choices to find out.

Thomas presses his tongue against his cheek to stop himself from blurting words out he might regret.

The words won't leave him alone. He doesn't even notice the cars racing by because he stands too close to the edge when they wait for the traffic light until a hand pulls him back.

"I'm alone this Saturday." Maven says. "You could come to my place again."

"Yeah," Thomas says, barely able to listen. He feels numb, as if his whole body is sleepwalking, his head in the haze. " Sure thing. Why not."

He's not as nervous as he enters the gate this time. He's still uncomfortable, but his head is too far away to recognize most things they pass. Down the narrow alley , along the fences where they stopped last time, Maven takes his hand. Thomas grips it so tightly he feels like he's crushing the warm fingers.

"It's a dinner party. I should have gone, but I said I had work to do for school, so they let me off this time." The way he says it implies a serious distaste.

"You're a filthy liar." Thomas jokes half assed.

"My mother wasn't fond of the excuse, but she's been busy, so it worked."

Very busy, Thomas thinks. At the mention of Elara something in his stomach twists violently.

"Your brother there too?"

"Well he didn't have time to make an excuse, so yes."

Those blue eyes watch too much. Thomas tries to shake the feeling off, but he can't.

As much as he hates himself for it, he let's go of the hand.

"So we've got what? Two hours? Three?" he asks to distract them both.

"You've never had the pleasure to attend one of those parties," Maven sounds lenient when he scoffs softly." so let me just say it would take that much time to get through introductions. And since my family is going to be in the spotlight, as always, we'll have the whole night."

"True, I'm just some low life criminal, I don't go to fancy parties." He kicks a stone over the street. "Or wear suits that could feed my family a month. Or drink sparkly drinks with little umbrellas in it."

"The image of that is priceless."

Thomas thinks about it before he smiles the first time since he met Maven's mother on the bench. "Yeah, pretty. I'd probably rock the suit and clean the food before the dinner even starts."

They have a good little amused moment, and for a second he forgets the insecurities. When he sees the black camera and the house again, it all comes back, pulling in with the force of a bulldozer.

She's right when she says I don't belong, he thinks. Now that the words have entered his brain, they won't let go and she haunts him. Because he does just step into her house, after all.

The floor feels even colder under his feet. The colourless surroundings are draining his life out of him.

Thomas can't stop the sigh from escaping his lips. "But that's not the reason we hang out, is it? Because I am different?" Because it would anger everyone if they knew?

"You are different."

It's meant as a compliment, he's sure. He cannot help himself and take it as something else entirely.

" Thanks, Mave."


	7. Decisions

_**[Authors note] Look, I wanted to write a drama, straight sad and spiraling down. But I can't. I'm too caught up in feels. Sadness and dark angsty feels postponed and subtle for now. Enjoy Star Wars discussions.**_

* * *

Thomas sits cross-legged on Mavens chair. He's scribbling on some of Mavens notebooks, careful not to write over any note that might be still needed. Not that he'd know which one is important. The desk is as clean and as organized as one can expect. It's a little rude, really, but he can't bring himself to sit next to Maven. The words are still in his head and they won't leave.

"Technically I think it's the authors choice, but most people agree that from a certain standard it's dragons four legs and wyverns two-" Maven stops. "Are you even listening?"

"Hm, yeah." He mutters. "Something authors, something four legs dragons."

There is an icky skull staring at him with heart kind of eyes. He looks disgusted at the drawing and scribbles over it to make it unrecognizable. _Don't be silly, Thomas, seriously._

"You asked me if there was a difference between _two_ and _four_ legs."

"For drawing. I always confuse it and then I call it the wrong thing."

The bed makes a little creaking sound when Maven shifts behind him. "So there's a dragon in progress?"

"Maybe." Thomas scratches his chin with the pencil. He's turning around to look at Maven for the first time since they entered the door, untangling his legs. "The last try looked more like the love child of a dragon and a chicken."

"That'd be a cockatrice. If we're going by looks only. Cockatrice come out of toads breeding a roosters egg." Maven leans on his hand, catching himself. "Technically."

Thomas wonders how much of that is still in this head. He guesses a lot. He probably could ramble and Thomas would listen for hours. He always used to make fun of people mooning over another talking like there's something big as the universe in their words. "I love that you just know that."  
There's the slightest of blushes and a very faint smile. It's like the universe wants to kick Thomas in the face for even considering leaving. He still can't shake the thought off.

" But, dude, I just wanna draw a lame ass four-legged fat lizard with a spiky head. Maybe some flames." Thomas drums the pencil on the wood of the table, clonking in a beat. "Yeah, flames are nice. I like flames. Roasting some guy on his horse, he ain't gonna save no friends from their dramatic almost death."

Maven looks amused. "What is it with you and good guys in fantasy? It's like a personal feud."

"I didn't start it," Thomas assures him and gets back to staring at the notebooks page, a mess of scribbled and erased attempts. It's like someone just asked Thomas to draw his life. He'd draw just this. "I have sisters. I must have watched good guys defeating evil a million times. Gets boring. But it's so romantic, you know?" He makes a little barfing sound, leaning over the chair until he almost falls.

"Thomas, defender of the villains," Maven proclaims with a little mock. Thomas bows graciously.  
"I mean, someone has to do it, right? Someone is always the villain in the story, or else it doesn't work." He shrugs."As long as it's not real. Because fuck real life oppression. Buuut. The empire did nothing wrong. Not with those pesky jedi."

"The empire did nothing wrong?"Maven scoffs softly." They were _incompetent_."

"Hey,you don't wanna go there, pretty boy." Thomas warns.

"As long as you leave the prequels alone, I am willing to."

Thomas knits his brows. "I don't know any prequels. Nope, never seen them. Especially not traumatized by kid me loving Jar Jar. That's never happened."

"Ah," Maven smiles very thin." A purist."

It's easy avoiding topics that could really cut the core. They dance around from movies to other things for a while and Thomas almost forgets the bad feeling he's had all week since he met Maven's mother on the bench.

There's a decision and Thomas is deadly scared to make it. Because he can't go on like this, that wouldn't be fair.

"I left some food for you in the fridge."

"I'm not hungry." Thomas tries to shrug it off.

Maven doesn't buy it. At all. "You are always hungry, Thomas."

It's uncanny how certain that sounds. But it's true. He gets up from the chair, waiting.

"After you."Thomas motions.

The kitchen is the same clean scrubbed shiny monster as before.

Thomas clasps his hand behind his back, waiting. At least eating gives him another excuse not to talk.

"Yours is with seafood." Maven says, putting a plastic box on the counter.

Thomas stares at the box as if a demon is about to be summoned from some unholy ritual.

"That was a joke." Maven feels the need to clarify, looking uncomfortable. "I know you hate seafood with passion."

"It's not simple hate. "Thomas says. "I am actually allergic to shellfish. My mother spent a day with me in the hospital once because I was swelling like a balloon. No fun. I'm not a picky eater, but I'll be damned to go near that shit again."

"You could have told me that."

It's the usual discussion. Thomas takes too little care. Maven wants to take too much.

"Eh," he shrugs. "What for? Do you have a list of all my allergies and problems? I'm fine if I stay away. I know the deal by now."

"I don't have any kind of list." The way he avoids eye contact one could mean Thomas just asked him where he hid the amber room. He's a little flustered. Thomas is intrigued. Funny enough, he used to see differences when he stared at Maven's face and the silver flushes. Like a highlight that they weren't the same.

He's still more than aware of the millions of miles between them. But something else has settled too. He knows the face by now. He knows how it feels under his fingertips, how it closes up and cracks, tiny little gaps that reveal bits and pieces of something very fragile.

It's not just a pretty face of some rich kid Thomas finds good looking or cute. The fact they have nothing in common and will never be the same is still nagging at him. Now more than ever. But he's not angry or sad.

It's a face he loves, and for what it's worth, he tries his best to love what's behind it even more. He wonders if that's mutual. He isn't stupid enough to really believe he's just a fling. But he's a first. And Thomas knows about firsts. First things get eventually replaced. They may be remembered fondly. But they break. They get discarded.

It's why he never attempts to stay. Breaking things is messy and it hurts.

Now he finds himself in a situation where he doesn't want it to break.

The words tear at him. That he's not enough. That he is not worth it. That he'll not hold it.

Thomas ignores the flaring pain making his heart cramp.

"Wait a second," he bites his lip and smiles even though he doesn't want to. "You really write a list about me? Seriously? What's on there?"

"It's not a list per se. And you'll never see it."The defenses get up again. Everything gets hidden under as much indifference as possible.

"Pity," Thomas shrugs. "I am pretty sure I could have added a thing or two."

"And that's why you will never see it. I knew you'd laugh."

"I'm not really making fun of you, pretty boy. Only a little." Thomas dares to reach over and give Maven's shoulder a gentle pat. " Why do you need to be so careful about everything?"

Maven leans against the counter. Thomas watches his hands grip on it so tightly his knuckles are turning white.

"Told you, you can cut it loose from time to time. You're with me to have a good time, yeah? We do what you want, I'm ok if I just get to watch you study."

"You're too kind."

Thomas stares for the slightest of seconds. Then he takes the words and puts them in the same place where the smile is already stored and lingering.

"Nah, just really into you." He's not sure why he whispers it. Maybe because it detoxifying his mind, cleansing the words and replacing them with fluttering hope. "I was crushing pretty hard when I told you you were cute. But now it's more of a feelsy thing. I think it's pretty obvious I'm really in love with you." Thomas brushes his hair back." I'm not good at this. I've never done it before. Sorry."

There's a long silence dragging between them. Thomas is almost sure this is the end. He'll leave and never come back.

"Thomas, I'm not-" Maven looks so uncomfortable he might as well crawl out of his own skin.

 _I'm not feeling the same way. I'm not sure this is good. I'm not willing to take the risk._

There's a million bad things that start this way.

"Okay." Thomas makes, mechanically.

Mavens hand curls along his cheek, very careful. The touch is almost too soft for him to bear. It's coming out of nowhere and gone as fast again. "I know it doesn't seem like it sometimes, Thomas, but I enjoy being with you."

"That's all I can ask for, I guess." Thomas smiles again, and this time it's genuine.

"No, it's not." Maven looks tired and stern. " You are a good person. You deserve someone who's taking your hand and just laughs with you. Someone you don't need to remind he can relax from time to time."

Maybe he's right. Some things aren't enough to make it worth it. Maybe he should just wait it out for someone who's cracking jokes all the time and who will step in when he sees Thomas is in a possible fight. That would be simple.

He's not a bad person, Thomas said to Farley. Sometimes that's all we can expect.

And it rings true.

" I think," Thomas says, reaching out for any kind of physical contact and taking the very hand that just touched his face. The entwined fingers are blatantly different but still hold on each othertight and safe and warm. "I don't want to go. So let's just do our weird thing and be who we are. If you're okay with that."

"I'm not really okay with, some things," There's another crack in the shell, another insecure moment. Another small voice thrown off by honesty. "But that's a different matter altogether. So yes, sounds good to me."

"Cool," Thomas smiles again, big this time. "Eh, and you'll figure your stuff out, pretty boy, you're the smartest person I know."

There's no dramatic kiss or embrace. No one declares everlasting love.

With one last squeeze the hands part.

Maven's mother will be pissed he decided to stay. Thomas adds her name to the long list of unfortunate events that will eventually kill him.

He's been worked up this whole time. It just needed a measly conversation that didn't even last ten minutes and he's mostly made his peace with it.

A door shuts with a loud thud and makes Thomas jump back.

"Shit." He whispers.

"Move." Maven whispers back. It sounds more like 'run for your life.'

Thomas bolts. He doesn't even open the glass door when he realizes his bag is in Maven's room and he's barefoot.

"Shit!" He repeats. Maven makes a gesture that could be a wave, shoo, or sign language for helicopter. Thomas isn't sure.

There are steps and they are getting awfully close before they stop form the shortest of moments.

Thomas thinks about diving behind the counter and hugging Maven's legs until the nightmare is over. But that's not really a viable option. Maybe it would be if it was a better hiding place.

"Mavey?" a voice says.

"Kitchen!" Maven calls back with much more confidence than Thomas would have anticipated.

He pushes himself against the counter, smoothing over his hair.

"What are you doing?"

"Try to look like I don't freak out?" Thomas shrugs. He's a little freaked out."I don't know!"

Maven's brother looks as good as on the photograph, and Thomas really starts to believe these people put something in their water, because seriously? No good genes in the world can make all the kids around here look that brilliant. Maybe he's onto some super secret project. Thomas shakes his very bright imagination off because now is definetly not a time to dream. He got something nice on him, and Thomas remembers the crooked smile. Thomas has recently learned he's more in the bookish type that knows what a freaking chickendragon is. And well, he isn't smiling now. It's not exactly as mean as Maven's mother. It's still very, very uncomfortable. Thomas stands very still. It's like someone told him he'll disappear if he just doesn't breath.

If a pit would open and offer to swallow Maven whole Thomas is positive he'd take the opportunity with a kiss.

"Thomas," Maven says.

Thomas takes a deep breath and pulls himself up. Straightening his back. "Hey." He manages to say and feels like an idiot.

"This is my brother. Cal. This is Thomas."

"I thought you needed to study." There's something in his voice. Yep, caught in the act. Might as well lie as filthy as he can.

"Actually, he doesn't," Thomas says and smiles as friendly as he can manage. "I do. He's just helping me cause I am a numbskull when it comes to numbers and stuff."

"We' re taking a break." Bless this filthy little liar. He maneuvers around. If it wouldn't contradict the whole story, Thomas would just flip the script and kiss him.

There's something Cal's face, and Thomas doesn't want to find out what the next words are. Because his eyes are looking right at the way THomas and maven stand there.

"Yeah, Imma take this to your room, if you don't mind." Thomas snatches the box and runs for his life.

"I didn't know you'd be back early." he hears Mave say, and with Thomas gone out of sight he sounds a little less embarrassed. Still not perfectly fine, but Thomas can't help and think he's really not going to tell anyone ever. He needs to accept that. He just kinda vouched to stay, after all.

There's some hushed voices Thomas can't understand. When he closes the door he hears Mavens brother laugh.

Thomas puts the box as far away from himself as he can and stares at the window.

When Maven returns he looks a little shaky but not as if he got roasted, but more like relieved because he got away.

Thomas huffs out a stream of air. "That took a while."

"Yes, we had to-" Maven tilts his head when he sees Thomas long face. "What's wrong?"

"No, no, I'm fine, like, really, at least you didn't get trouble." He scratches his head, before he gets up and presses a little kiss on Maven's cheek. "Be right back, need to use the bathroom."  
He doesn't watch exactly where he looks, still cranky and nervous how all this is going. Which is why Thomas jumps for the second time this evening when he encounters Maven's brother on the hallway.  
"Dude,"Thomas tries to recover from the heart attack. "Did you wait for me? That's freaking creepy."

"I didn't. My room's over there." He points somewhere behind him. "But I am glad I got to catch you alone."

I die as I lived, Thomas thinks. At least the floor is clean and I got to kiss my boyfriend.

"You know," Cal says, very calm and casually. He doesn't sound as hostile as Maven's mother, but there's still that cautious undertone. It's the older sibling card. Thomas has witnessed and used it himself. This could end very badly if he doesn't keep the blurps of words in his head for once." I am aware you're dating my brother. Don't you?"

Thomas doesn't look him in the face, studying a scar on the back of his hand. "I hoped it wasn't THAT obvious." He mutters, scratching the side of his nose.

There's something in Cal's face , angular jaw clenched, suggesting he failed terribly at cloaking any fondness the whole time. "Just so we clear, I hope you have good intentions."

"Yeah, because I'm filthy and poor." Thomas scoffs, there's a bitter taste in his mouth.

"No, because he's never brought anyone home, ever." Something about the way he says it is very endearing, and Thomas thinks of his sisters again. But it's also a little scary because if Thomas didn't have good intentions he's sure Cal would break him in the middle like a twig. Thomas doesn't look forward to that prospect. "And he's not easy with people. So don't mess it up."

"Dude, I would let myself get run over by a car if that would help." Thomas looks over with the most serious impression he can muster. "He's smart, cute and he gives me food."

"I'll hold you to that. It was nice meeting you, Thomas." Cal is honest and Thomas hasn't expected honesty. He's still waiting for a slap in the face like Elara Merandus gave him. Plenty, actually.

" Yeah, sure, you too."

Mavens brother gives him a long look and Thomas just blinks and waits. He's got really intense brown eyes, like some sort of bronze, but they are warm, and Thomas starts to think that's what Cal is about, something warm. And that's why Maven isn't fine with him sometimes. Thomas knows the pushing back, the flinching from closeness by now too well." You still have to leave before anyone sees you."

"Eh." Thomas makes eloquently when no joke wants to come out. He's not quite sure what just happened.

 _Did I say the right things for once? Well, that's a first._

When he returns Thomas has faced the impossible truth he just got a seal of approval. Be it temporary or not.

"What happened?" Maven asks, but Thomas just slings his arm around him. It's strange how well their bodies fit together sometimes.

"Enough questions for one evening." He says. "My head freaking hurts."

"That's because-" Maven starts, very dry, and Thomas puts his hand over his mouth.

"Shh, no reason to tell me I'm stupid. Brain's too mushy for a good comeback. Let's just make out and eat."


	8. You need a home

After at least one approval of his choices, Thomas becomes sort of regular around the house. There's a small almost daily gap when Maven is alone or just with Cal around. Thomas still tries to avoid any more talks with Maven's brother but at least he opens the door for him. He's still feeling monitored. And also he's thrown out after a certain time of day. Cal could make that only more clear if he was chasing Thomas with a broom. Not that he'd need to. He's friendly about it but Thomas is pretty sure being on his bad side can end very ugly. And so he tries to stay in good terms,for now.

At least there is no pretending behind closed doors. Everyone knows their place and they live with it. Or choose to ignore each other, at least in Thomas case.

Once or twice he tries to sneak back in through Maven's window. One time he gets the wrong one and the other time he almost gets caught and his own traitorous beloved boyfriend shoves him back outside and snaps the window shut.

Also, every Wednesday, he's not called for at all. Those days are the worst because while it's none of his business he's still missing like a puppy on a doorstep. He stops by a few times but Maven's mood is so bad he doesn't even want to talk and Thomas gets the hint.

That whole routine is becoming familiar and it's giving him something to hold onto.

He pesters all the other poor souls that know him. Mainly Shade or Farley or whoever is hanging out at her apartment.

The warmth is still nice. Not being soaked in rain is pretty good.

Just hanging with his boyfriend has its benefits.

He's not even sad or mad that he's practically thrown out a lot of 'I love you's and never got more than a distant and very faint reply. Well, he hasn't really said those three words but he's sure the hints are too big and 'being in love' is basically just other coded for all the same things. Or is it not?

He can be pressuring, he knows. He doesn't want it to go wrong.

There is a fragile line they both walk. Thomas asks too many questions sometimes, he can't help it. Maven retreats from it, behind the safety of unbreakable ice and silence, sometimes a very thin-skinned snap.

When Maven tries to care, Thomas can get pissy. He doesn't like being watched and fussed over. It's a little suffocating. The fact that his boyfriend cannot, relax for one second when there's a new bruise or a hole in his sweater, or even just a tiny little moment of being late, drives him nuts.

He can't take presents well. He gets a lot of things lent. But one can only lie to oneself so far to not see they are specially bought for him.

And when he doesn't accept them, there's a discussion and too many words. One time Thomas just stuffed everything in the trash, but he refrains from doing so now because that's a waste. At least that always ends in some sort of physical territory. Thomas can handle that. He hasn't slept with Maven, but he really doesn't need to. It's not like he has enough nerve to speak about it. He's got zero experience and his rabbit heart wants him to stay away from something that would change things a lot more than they already have. And it's not really the most important thing. Maybe he's just too scared to touch the subject. It's not like they as much as sleep in the same bed. Thomas never stays over and Maven never asks him to. He thinks of the first night he has spent at this house, and the comfortable and satisfying way of falling asleep warm and safe, only to get up and leave. There is still bristling and there are days when he flinches, but there are warmer days too, and he's fine with as much as he can get now.

A relationship is weird and kind of more work than Thomas has ever thought it would be. He's used to flings but when you decide to stay you got to make it worth. And that's not something he's too used to. He's bad at being good at something. Whoever said love conquers all has clearly never really had a lasting relationship.

Because that is freaking work and tears and it hurts.

No one ever told Thomas how much it hurts to love someone and constantly get into a fight with them. Thomas got into a few fights with his family, but that's something else- they never lasted until he left. With Maven there is a constant edge, something nervous, something he can't name. The problems don't change, they just shift position or retreat into the tiniest corner of his mind until they kick one of them in the back. He wants too much too fast and he wants it to stay. He feels him slipping through his fingers. It's always the small things.

Sometimes he wants to bang his head against the wall, or better, that stubborn head of his boyfriend.

He just bites his lip and pushes through.

Surprisingly Maven mother hasn't tried to kill him yet. It's not like they ever meet. But she's made her way down to meet him before. She doesn't know. He's not stupid enough to believe she will let it slide. That woman is a snake, and she's probably curled up in the higher grass and ready to strike.

It's really not like Thomas would meet anyone. He just sneaks up the hills, gets to their house and leaves. Sometimes he wonders what life could be like if he actually would do something. Something legal. He's making some cash here and there, working for Whistle, selling stuff he's conveniently 'found' somewhere.

Money is another thing that's rather icky between them.

It's not like Thomas envies or hates it. He's just freaking full. He wants to have a nice time and he can't if he always thinks he's taking money from Maven for every little thing.

It's four weeks and the end of October is coming fast. The fog clogs the streets and soaks through Thomas coat. No, not really his. Just something else Maven has handed him. It's etched into his skin by now.

The care, the pressure, the long lingering gazes everytime he steps into a room, the flinching when they brush in public.

It's the usual pushing and pulling. One of them asks, the other one answers.

It's a choke hold. But neither will give up and neither wants the other down.

No one can win, really.

Between that, there's always quiet and peaceful moments that make Thomas think staying was the right choice.

He draws from those moments. He doesn't run to anyone to complain. It'd be whining and sobbing every week if he did.

It's really not all bad. It's just mighty different than he's been expecting. Sometimes it's just downright lazy, and warm. Thomas lies on his stomach, scribbling on his arm, occasionally glaring over to his side, watching a hand and a pencil, a book and a concentrated face. There's a soft sound of paper when a page is turned. "You should stop doing that."

The sharpie scratches over Thomas' arm. "HM?"

"It's not toxic but it's really not the best idea."

Thomas makes a little noise but doesn't stop drawing little circles on his arm. "I'm bored. This happens when I am bored. You know me."

Maven's eyes follow the sharpie when Thomas scribbles over his arm again. It's a senseless pattern, variating between circles, lines, and crosses. There's no real order in the variation, it's just arbitrarily repeating itself, whirling around his wrist and the inner side of his arm.

"You could get yourself something to eat. "

Thomas thinks about it for a second, but his stomach is fully happy for once. "No thanks."

"Want to use my laptop?"

"Nah, I'm done with the internet."

"That's probably for the best. My browser history looked like a serial killer was using google, paired with random videos of dogs the last time you did."

Thomas shrugs. "I have questions, y' know, sue me. And dogs are best boys." It takes him a moment to acknowledge the truth. He sighs. "I'd probably just stalk my sister's social media. Don't need that. She's gotten into snapping pictures of food. Why do people do that?"

"Oh Thomas," Maven looks at him like someone would look at a child, knowing what lies before them in this cruel world.

"My phone was stolen the first week I was on the streets, best day of my life."

"Still, "Mavens' eyes look at the sharpie again. "Stop, will you?"

"I am living art." Thomas snorts. "Make me."

Maven puts his book away, leans over the bed and takes away the sharpie. Easy as stealing candy from a baby.

"Mean." Thomas comments. "But effective."

There's something irritated and twitching under the surface, lurking around the whole time, and now it snaps, with a dry voice and a glare. "Seems to be my way."

Thomas shakes his head, flipping on his back. "I'm not going there just because your therapy thing was shit yesterday."

Maven stares at the sharpie in his hand as if it will transform into a magical wand that will solve all their problems. Wingardium Leviosa, Thomas thinks. If that was just possible. "I never told you about that."

 _Yeah, why would you?_

There's something coiling under his skin, creeping in his back, and it's ugly. He doesn't want to acknowledge it. He pushes it back, but his words are still a lot harsher than he intended.

"I am stupid but not that dumb. I'd need to be a potato to overlook it. Also, you called it an appointment once." Thomas rolls his eyes. " So what? It's good if you sort things out. You look like someone told you you have cancer."

"I don't exactly sort things out. I don't want to be there." Maven bristles. It's like biting on something hard, hurting teeth and gnawing on resistance.

Ah,its the sort of thing where you keep up the game and hope everyone is allright with it. Like that shitshow counseling. There's a pang of sympathy flaring through Thomas.

Maven sighs. "I mentioned you once."

"Yeah well," It's a little bothering that a stranger knows about things he's never told anyone, about private swallows the words. "I hope nothing too bad."

"It was harmless. I was asked if I had any friends. I just said I had a best friend."

Thomas hasn't had a best friend since elementary school. Not like he had much friends at all until he reached a certain level of pissy charm and _not gonna take it's_. He is not sure how it all works.

"You're kinda my best friend too. With touchy benefits. I know we're not throwing boyfriend terms around."

Through the slightest of blushes there is appreciation in Mavens' face and for once Thomas is satisfied for behaving like a rational person."You're taking this better than I thought you would."

"I can be an asshole, but that's too low even for me." Thomas shrugs. "You're the one with the borders. I'm all fair game and open."

"Really?" Maven scoffs. "Because you don't have any kind of problem."

"Hell no," Thomas makes a face and takes the challenge ." I have a fuckton of them. I am a hopeless mess. I cut my hair with a rusty scissor over a train station sink last month. I eat trash. And I'm not talking fast food, I mean just real trash. And my father told me to snap out of being gay." The memory makes his stomach violently twist. He smiles it away. "Repeatedly, by the way. He's not so good on that emotional level."

"You never mentioned that."

"Why would I?" He leans back, resting his head on his painted arms. " He's been an ok Dad the rest of my life. He'll come around. And if he doesn't, well I ain't going home anyway."

A pale hand moves over, smoothing his hair, entangling strands, pushing them out of his eyes with gentle strokes."You need a home, Thomas."

"Do I?" Thomas asks, doubting, but surrendering to the touch, closing his eyes. "I mean you have a home and look at you, pretty boy. You aren't happy."

He doesn't need to look up to feel the uneasiness. "That is not the same."

"Isn't it? Okay. Not gonna try and argue." The hand stops and Thomas makes a protesting sound until the touch returns, combing his messy hair back and running slightly over his scalp. "Just saying. We could run away."

"You don't make sense sometimes."

Thomas laughs. "No really! Think about it."

"I do and I don't know if the thought scares me or makes me laugh."

The face he makes when he says that makes Thomas laugh even more.

Despite his encouragement and not making a big deal out of it, he notices the anger and the fear that's behind it all.

He's not sure why he doesn't bother. People flip their shits over mental stuff, don't they? Everything has to be perfect and tidy and the grass has to be cut short and the car to be clean and fuck you if you cannot be a machine.

Thomas ignores the call of the world. He still would not attempt to discourage that little thing going in there. It seems to be freaking upsetting and hard. Something in him even admires he gets there on regular basis.

Maybe it's just because at least one of them makes the attempt to keep it together.

And it's not Thomas, that's for sure.

"You draw a lot of monsters." Maven observes and watches Thomas do the only thing he's really not bad in.

"Yeah, kinda my thing. Scales and claws are good stuff." Real monsters don't need claws to rip you apart. Thomas has learned it by now. "You look tired, you ok, pretty boy?"

Maven hugs his legs and watches him draw.

"Bad dreams?" Thomas can't stop himself. The words are slipping out.

To his surprise he even gets an answer. "Not much dreams at all."

 _"Are_ you even trying to sleep?"

There's the pondering again as if Thomas is going to just straight up jump out of the window. Instead of pressing for an answer he gets back to the drawing. A new monster on a new day full of problems.

* * *

"You can't come around the next days." Maven says when they meet at Thomas new temporary home. It's a construction site that was supposed to be finished months ago, but they just lost the money or taking a very long break. It's lying dormant between skyscrapers and smaller buildings in the city. For some reasons, most other homeless people seem to keep away, though Thomas hasn't found out why. It's a lot of space all for himself and occasionally one or two other guys he doesn't know. No one tries to beat up the other or pick a fight and so he really doesn't care.

At least the skeleton building has a roof and steady walls made of concrete. Thomas climbs the roof, sometimes, but he's gotten lazy over too much eating and not moving much. As it is all that's happening is that he's not quite as skinny as he was in the summer, but by no means fat. His hips are still sticking out, but at least his ribs aren't piercing right through his skin. He's gone from a very wild stray dog to one occasionally being cuddled and tried to domesticate. No collar, though, only his own willingness to stay. Maven hasn't returned any kind of words to him, but he didn't think he would. He is staying, that proves people wrong when they say it doesn't mean as much. Though it still sucks he can't just lean over and kiss his boyfriend.

"What? But it's Halloween! I had plans for you and me. Trick and treat, y'know? But just treats. All kinds of treats."

"It's also my brother's birthday and my father takes the day off." The words behind that twist the dagger that's stuck in his belly for weeks. It's about the secrecy and the stinging knowledge what happens when family isn't welcome of your choices. He knows they'll probably never be official and he doesn't expect a proposal. But damn if it isn't getting him.

Maven sighs. "I know you probably feel left out."

Thomas scratches his chin. "No, you haven't told your parents and I don't wanna ruin your brother's birthday, he's been nicer than I thought."

He doesn't say a word about Elara Merandus on the bench. He can't say for sure what will happen if he does. Maybe more pulling away. He can't afford it. It's a thing between them, and he intends to not take anymore should they ever meet again. No matter how scary or powerful she is.

"It's not because I'm ashamed of you, Thomas." His eyes are looking straight at Thomas when he says it, blue freckled with silver, and Thomas wants nothing more than believe it.

"I know, I get it." Thomas draws the words out, syllables long and trying to sound careless.

He's not really in the mood for company. So he just stays in the concrete walls, curling up until he's tired enough to fall asleep.  
Water dripping from the ceiling wakes him the next morning and he feels lonelier than ever, staring at the naked grey wall.

It's strange. He's so used to something steady and present, however distant that can be, something holding him up and right, that it's almost causing physical pain. Like someone cut off his fingers. He has to concentrate on everything more, even the most simple and boring tasks, cause he worries and his mind drifts.

Being so dependent is all new. He's not sure it's a good thing, wrapping his whole life around Maven like that. He can't help it at the moment.

The rain gets worse and he stays inside his new home, curling into a tight ball and wondering what normal people do at this time of day.  
They get up. They make breakfast. They get to school and work. It's mundane and nothing special but sometimes it's everything he is yearning for. He's said the truth when he told Maven he was a hopeless mess. Laughing and smiling is the best coping he has, and running helps too. Means at least avoiding things.

He wonders if he'll ever settle down again, when he knows for sure he isn't returning home. That's out of question. A few days later he's at least up and moving through town again, but the rain and cold ground has left him a present. He's caught a pretty bad cold, sore throat, and heavy limbs. Really not helpful. He's sneezing and shivering and feels like shit.

"Better not come too close, "he jokes, trying to suppress a cough when Maven stops by the abandoned building after school in the late afternoon.  
"Thomas," There's worry in the way he says his name.  
"No." Thomas shakes his head. "No, really, I'll be fine. I need a nap and a shower, and in no time I will be good again, you'll see. How was your brother's birthday?"

No answer and a glare is enough to tell him it was probably a desaster.

Four days later he's still as sick and his head hurts so much he doesn't want to move. In the last attempt to save his life he crawls to Farley's doorstep. When she sees his feverish face she lets him in without any more comments and he collapses on her uncomfortable couch, curling into a tiny shivering ball.

It takes two more days until he leaves the couch in the dead of night behind.  
He's a sweaty mess and now he looks the homeless part.

His feet drag him to the train station by himself, and he gets lucky. Leaping into the last train, the river moves along the window. Flashes of lights, spread out along the dark night sky. At one point, he sees the big skyscrapers, at another a faint glimpse of the factories in the distance.

He feels guilty. And not at home at all. You can leave the Stilts, someone once said, but the Stilts never really leave you.

Maybe that is the reason he returns now. It would be so damn easy. Go down the street and knock on the door.

Just swallow the hurt and move on somehow.

He can't make another step.

If it was up to the people on top, he could just curl up into a ball and die. Like a rat in the gutter. He's just as filthy and useless.

He stumbles through the streets. If people see him no one cares.

He doesn't know how late it is when he leans against the pay phone and calls the only number he knows straight out of his head. He's never been good with numbers but he had it written on his arms for weeks and he remembers how many times he already had dialed without actually ever calling.

It only takes one tiny moment of silence before Maven picks up.

"Hey, pretty boy." He whispers.

"Where have you been the last week?"

"Did I wake you?" Thomas asks, voice hoarse, not only from his sore throat.

"No. Where are you?"

There's urgency in the question. And something so worried Thomas swallows hard.

"Am allright. Chilling at the Stilts."

"Tell me you're not sleeping outside."

"I am not _sleeping_ outside, Mave."

There's a indifferent hum. Thomas only answer is a repressed cough.

"I just..kinda missed you."

There's a shaky , small breath, not a laugh and not a sigh and it erupts in Thomas chest like a sun.

"I miss you too."

"Sorry."


	9. Makes two of us

_Alternative title: Thomas pisses everyone off, Maven tries to care and Cal gets tired of their shit_

* * *

The fact christmas is around the corner and Thomas has no family to celebrate with while everyone is happy lovely dovey makes him even more insufferable and cranky.

He's like an old man yelling at kids to get off his lawn.

He can't concentrate on anything. Even when he does something he usually likes it turns out wrong. The lines on the paper look wonky and wrong. He rips the paper off and throws it at the trash can, missing. The paper mocks him from the ground but he doesn't want to get up. Instead he watches Maven swing around on his chair and take care of it.

"Who even invented stupid holidays. "he mutters.

"You know I would offer to invite you. If I was not sure that would end in an disaster."

"Yeah, " Thomas mocks to cloak his hurt. " Imagine me under your christmas tree. Chilling with your mother."

A shiver creeps up his spine. The incredulous thought wrinkles Maven's brow.

"Or," Maven offers after a while of silence, sitting next to him on the bed." Talk to your family."

Thomas pulls himself up slowly by the headrest of the bed. Then he leans over and kisses Maven's nose. It's the most gentle thing he can offer, hoping to make it count.

"No."

"I don't want you to spend the holidays in the gutter," Maven whispers. "It's getting colder. You still don't have a home."

"You're my home, pretty boy." Thomas exclaims, and though there's still too much left unsaid or shouted about, it's almost an honest answer by now.

"I can't keep you warm and dry, Thomas."

"I mean, " Thomas pulls him down with him. That's probably how things will end, Thomas thinks dreaded. One of us always pulls the other down with him. He doesn't want to think about it now. "You could try."

Maven breathes out, leaning against him. There's that little shaking smile and Thomas tries to absorb and preserve it.

The topic stays touchy between them. There's an insistence behind that isn't to Thomas liking at all. Like a cobble stuck in his boot, unnerving him.

One day it pops up again. The air is cold and clear when they walk along the road. There's not much traffic, and no one bothers for them, just two boys strolling along. Maven has that overclocked computer look again and Thomas spider senses tingle in danger. For a while none of them say a word, just feet walking along fading grey sunshine, retreating slowly to get the night life and the city awake in brighter lights.

"Thomas ," Maven finally says. And he sounds very neutral. Like he's about to go to business instead of friendly banter. " Remember when you said you missed your sister?"

"Eh, yeah, I say that sometimes." Thomas shrugs. People do say stuff like that. He hasn't given it much thought. Tried to block it out.

Mavens hands disappear in his pockets. "I might have talked to her."

Thomas stares at him in a daze. "You what?!"

Maven doesn't look at him, shoulders drawn up." I was really unsure but you seemed very upset."

"Oh no." Thomas glares at him. " No no. You did not."

"Your sister is a very patient person, by the way, and I said I was a friend of yours and that you talked about your family often. And she was very nice even though she never met me. She asked if you wanted to see her." He offers the words like they are a grocery list. Thomas stops dead in his tracks.

"That's crossing every border you ever set up, you know that?"

"I just wanted to help."

"That's not helping! That's the opposite of letting go and help!" Thomas makes a fist and digs his nails into his palm. "Dude, it's really great you try . But you took control of my situation and hijacked it like a freaking plane. I don't want to see her."

"You're my only friend, Thomas. I don't want to see you this way. I like you."

There' s the hurt again, bottled and lined up, ready to go. Thomas scoffs softly. "OH, you like me, well that's awesome."

"That's not-" Maven looks like he regrets even standing next to Thomas. "You know I care. I wouldn't have gone to your sister if I didn't. You're -"

"See, that's what I mean. I don't want to be just your best friend. You're not taking me serious. We haven't kissed for how long and you didn't even try to touch me. I never ever tried to be too much because I know it's hard for you. And I am telling myself it's ok, but it's really not, because I love you, and it fucking hurts."

The colour has vanished from Maven's face.

"There I said it. Not like you didn't know."

Thomas just wants to bolt. Instead he stands there and listens. "You're the best thing that has ever come out of one of my... meltdowns." Maven says it so careful as if has to taste the words before they hit Thomas face. "But-"

Thomas tries to breath even and steady as the pain crawls along his heart and makes it cramp together in pain. "No, no, I don't want to hear it. I know you don't feel the same."

He's almost shocked by the way Maven holds him back by the arm. There's anger and confusion in the thin line of Maven's mouth.

Something in Thomas snaps at it, a broken branch, finally severed from the rest, not able to hold the weight anymore.

"I'm leaving. Seriously. Fuck all of this." he hisses, breaking free and staggering back.

He doesn't notice how close he is to the edge. No one pulls his arm back this time and he steps over the asphalt. The first thing he notice headlights are big yellow cones. They are so close he sees that one has the smallest stain of dirt.

The car stops with screeching brakes.

Thomas staggers back, and when the driver honks he flips him off.

"Thomas." It's small and lost, a single word. Thomas shakes it off and leaves.

Without another look back, he runs.

"Want to be my imaginary date? "He asks when Farley opens the door.  
But it isn't Farley at all.  
"Only if you put a ring on my finger," Shade says, holding a half eaten burger.  
Thomas is stuck somewhere between feeling miserable and wanting to laugh. Cry laughing, is that a thing?  
He just makes a noise that sounds like a drowning cat and hugs Shade.  
"Alright. Now it's definitely a ring." His hand pats Thomas' shoulder. He takes a deep breath before he lets go of poor clueless Shade.  
"Dude give me that burger," Thomas stares longingly at the food as if it can magically seal the hole in his chest. "And I buy you ten rings. Diamonds and shit. We make it official."

"You must be really desperate if you want something that was in my mouth."  
"Desperate is an understatement. Just gimme that." Thomas huffs. Then he grabs the burger and steps in.

Farley sits on her couch and when she sees Thomas she just moves, making some space. He sits down and stares at the old TV, blaring in full volume.

"This is about a guy," he says.  
"You've been dating a guy?" Shade asks to his right.  
"Yeah, pal, " Thomas snorts, eyes glued to the meaningless moving images on the screen. Farley has turned the volume down by now, just watching with her keen eyes. "hate to break it to you, I'm pretty sure I am into that."  
"Oh please, I knew you were gay since the day we met."  
Now Thomas looks over. "You what?"  
"Yeah," Shade shrugs it off. "I was just asking because you don't date. You are talking and flirting and in the end, you run off."

"Running is kind of my thing, yes, but-" Thomas tilts his head, stumbling over his words. "What does that mean? Since the day we met? How?"

Shade chews on a handful of fries before he answers. "For starters, you were flirting with me."

"I wasn't- no wait I totally was." Thomas reaches over and grabs the fries himself. "OH my god." He speaks with his mouth full, muffled. "Am I like that with everyone? No wonder he doesn't take me serious."

"This isn't about anyone but yourself. " Farley says, the only one not eating noisy and clearly eyeing the way the fries disappear quickly into the void of their stomachs.

"Why do I have the feeling you'll tell me It's all my fault, mom?"

"Thomas your life is out of control." She doesn't take shit from anyone. Her words cut in his skin.

When he's looking over he realizes he can't expect support from Shade. "She's not wrong."

He's pressed in a sandwich of accusations.

"I thought we are friends." He says, feeling like a cornered animal. "Seems you just wanna give me shit too. Thanks."

"I am not coddling you." Farley's eyes are hard in the flickering lights. "You are an unemployed, homeless teenager."

"Yeah and you're hunting dreams of a better life." He snorts, getting up. "As if there's ever going to be equality and stuff. You are hypocrites and borderline criminals. Not some flashy rebellion. This empire "he makes a frantic gesture with his hands. "does not have a death star."

He doesn't want another discussion. He hears Shade, but he doesn't wait. For the second day he just wanders off, ignoring everything around him.

A week later it has started to snow. It clogs the streets, turns everything into a slippery ice cold hell.

The concrete walls are tainted with frost. The water has frozen into dangerous pools . It's pretty to look at when you're inside a warm house. Not so much when you freeze. And oh does he freeze. He's never felt a cold like this before. It's hostile, and the snowflakes are mocking him, kissing his skin in a soft flutter.

He wanders through the city. Nothing has changed. But everything is different.

It seems pretty senseless. Not like people are wrong.

He doesn't even care. Maybe he'll just die in the cold anyway.

You do deserve it, a part of him assures him.

One night he gets caught up in a fight. He's never been a particularly good fighter but boy do they get him down. He's left alone in an alley, without his bag, without his coat , and barely alive.

For a while he just lies on the ground. When he finally gets up he doesn't even know where to go. He limps through the streets, not feeling alive. But not dead either. His body is a ruin and he's shaking.

The lights are all out and there's no cars in the driveway. The house looks dead and cold. Thomas limps over the grass and sits down on the stones, curling himself together, not able to move any farther.

There's a faint light shining through the glass doors to the kitchen.

After some time has passed, the doors opens, sliding to the side quietly. Thomas shakers so much he can't hold his head up straight.

"What the-" It's Cal's voice. A faint light shines from his hand and throws a t white light at Thomas shivering form. "Thomas?"

Thomas opens his mouth slightly, but no voice comes out.

"You look terrible." Cal sounds genuinely horrified. Thomas can't blame him.

He doesn't move when Cal comes closer, slowly. He's looking like he fell asleep in the couch, tousled hair and crumbled shirt.

"I don't have anywhere to go." Thomas barely whispers through the quivering lips and the mess of his face.

It's speaking for Maven's brother he doesn't even try to ask another question and just extends his arm, pulling Thomas up with ease, practically half dragging him along. "Come on."

Every step is a fight. Thomas can't breath and cannot stop the shaking.

"I'm getting Maven." He says very slow. "Just a moment."

Thomas concentrates hard on the words and a flash of fresh fear and regret accompanies the pain and the hollow dark sensation in his chest.

He sits on the couch, dirty and bloody, staring at nothing, through the ground. Snow melts in a puddle around him.

He can hear their voices. He'd have to be deaf.

"I told you I don't want to see him."

"He's a mess. He needs help."

"I tried to help. He told me to go away."

The shaking is so violent he curls together again, holding his head between his hands.

"Sometimes people don't know what they do, Mavey. Just take care of him."

"I am not good at caring. You should do it. You excel at this."

"I barely know him. He needs a friend. How old are you again?" There's something sharp in the words. If Thomas wasn't close to just giving up, he'd be grateful. " whatever you did, you work it out. Now."

There's the slightest of uncomfortable silences before steps come closer again.

"I'm sorry." Thomas says thinking Cal has come back. There's a pair of warm, pale hands touching his back, very careful.

"Can you walk?" Maven's voice asks.

Thomas sits up slowly.

Maven is dressed in the most faded blue, and he stares down at Thomas in a mixture of helplessness and bewilderment.

For a second Thomas stares just back. Then he buries his face on Maven's stomach and just starts to sob , big hot tears burning in his eyes.

"I ruined your shirt." He mutters, breath hitched and tears blurring his vision. The words are barely understandable. His fingers cling to Maven's waist, clawing into his hoodie. "It's dirty and bloody and I ruined it."

"I never really thought I'd get it back either way." Maven answers, and his hand brushes the softest of patterns over Thomas dirty hair.

He can't stop crying. He tries. He wants to. He can't.

The wailing sobs are the only sound echoing through the house.

It takes an awful lot of time before he can stop. The fabric under his face is wet and dirty. His nose has left the faintest clue of dried blood.

"Can you walk, Thomas?" Maven asks again.

Thomas moves his head in a weak attempt to nod one time up, one time down.

He doesn't expect the arm slinging around his shoulder. It's just as careful as any other motion. Like Thomas is made of glass.

Heaving breaths, a spasm hunting through his spine, he leans into the touch.

They don't talk. At least something good. He doesn't know what Maven would say and he doesn't have to say anything that could possibly fix all this.

Maven drops him on his bed, too soft and clean.

"I'm dirty. I can't-"

"We'll clean up."

Thomas fights the zipper of the dirt smeared jacket like a knight fighting a dragon. He's loosing.

His hands are useless, not following his commands.

Second surprise of the evening, Maven actually decides he can't watch the pity play anymore and helps. He leans over and if Thomas nose was not hurting he'd smell his clean, sharp smell. When the jacket is off, Maven leans further down, sitting in his heels, pulling off Thomas old and battered boots. Dirt stained and destroyed , they are just like himself.

"You probably need a bath."

There's something fighting in his face, before he puts his arm around Thomas again.

In another life time Thomas would have joked about it. About the careful and unsure way Maven is moving, face made of stone, frowning a little to hide something in his eyes. He'd have mocked him relentless.

He would have joked about being undressed or about the way he's just letting him take care of anything. And he would have been very uneasy himself, like the time he slipped out of his shirt. Because his body is far from anything good looking. This could have been embarrassing or maybe it could have been leading to something else. It's just mechanical and nervous, careful and unsure.

Now he just sits in the bathtub and curls together again, hugging his legs, counting bruises and cuts, shaking and almost crying again.

He's just letting it all go by.

The shaking slowly stops when the water rinses over his shoulders and is followed by the touch of a hand. The hand is very calm, but at the same time it is moving unsure.

He follows the motion and sees a rolled up sleeve, a silver bracelet on a wrist.. He remembers the way Maven's legs retreated from the water on the pool, toes twitching.

The water warms his body but inside he doesn't feel anything except hollow pain and sadness.

For a while he just watches the hand and sits very still. The water is dark by now, cleansing the dirt and the smell of blood and smoke from his skin. It can't take it out off his head.

"I am sorry." Thomas whispers. "I shouldn't have flipped my shit."

"We talk about it tomorrow. "Maven let's out a small huff, smoothing over Thomas wet hair.

The meaning behind it seeps through the hollow pain. "I can stay?"

The silver bracelet glimmers in the white light of the bathroom. The hand splashes through the water helplessly for a second. "I guess so."

There's the stinging tears again. This time he can't hold them back and cries again. This time Maven isn't trying to soothe him and Thomas just hugs his legs harder, glad for it. One more frail touch and he's never going to be himself again.

By the time he's dressed in something warm ,his face is a stinging sensation, patched up clumsily, his body almost accepts his reign again.

He's on one side of the bed, pressing himself against the mattress , hiding under the blanket.

The other side is empty.

Maven has taken the farthest spot in his room at his desk. The lights are dim and everything is wrong. Thomas forces himself to get up, leaning against the headrest.

"I can sleep on the floor."

"Don't be ridiculous. It's big enough for both of us."

Thomas tries to smile, but his mouth just tugs into a pathetic grimace. "And why are you sitting there?"

Maven presses the heel of his hand under his eye and takes a deep breath.

As always, Thomas can't wait.

"I really should...I don't know." He sighs, watching the slightest of cracks in a tired face." I just wanted-"

"Thomas," the voice is small and lost and it makes him stop. "I'm scared. That's all. I'm just a coward."

"Makes two of us." Thomas pats the side of the pillow. "Let's catch some sleep, you're right, we can talk it out tomorrow."

The first few breaths in the dark are strange, and Thomas feels under water again.

He can feel the tension in his muscles when Maven turns around. The bed could be twenty miles bigger. It wouldn't make a difference.

Somehow the fatigue catches up and he falls asleep. He only wakes up because something presses against a few of the bad bruises on his back.

He cranes his neck, blinking tired and confused. Maven has rolled around and his head has settled on Thomas neck, arms brushing against the bruises along his ribs and spine.

He ignores the pain for now and just lets it be.

* * *

 _ **[AN]Thanks for all the cheering. I am so glad you like my work. Every time I read your comments it's my birthday folks .**_


	10. Someday maybe

Opposite to all promises, they don't talk the next day. It's Saturday morning and there's little sounds moving down the hallway. Grey clouded lights are seeping through the curtains. Thomas doesn't want to know how late it is. Eyes half closed, he just clings to the warmth of another body.

Maven's head is still resting in the crook of his neck. Thomas remembers he wondered why it fit there so well the first time. With every little breath, air makes his skin shiver now, and from time to time the head moves, only a little, and the nose brushes over his pulse.

The pain is bad, but he doesn't complain. Not when he's warm and safe for now. It's a cocoon of blankets and pretending.

For the longest while he just holds to Maven, listening to his breaths, occasionally glancing over. He's never see him sleep before.

There's something soft to it, he's almost relaxed. Hidden underneath that is still a layer of friction, of someone being so uncomfortable with everything in the world he wants to freeze and hide. Around others, the pretending keeps coming. It's a little unsettling how good he can pretend he doesn't feel anything. Thomas mostly manages to see right through it, catching a glimpse. Other people, not so much.

Getting up is hard. Not only physical. When he finally makes it because he really needs to pee, Maven only stirs slightly.

He carefully limps over the hallway, checking the coast is clear. The last thing he needs is running into parents. Parents that are sure no fans to find a bruised and battered strange boy slipping out of their sons room. The colour of his blood indicates enough about his heritage to make it even worse.

When he finds his face in the mirror he doesn't see much resemblance to himself in that miserable creature.

Split lip and the black eyes , bruises and cuts spread over his face and arms, he can't believe nothing is broken. It feels like a car has run him over.

On the way back, he hangs his head out of the bathroom door, peeking through.

"They're not here." A voice behind him says. Thomas would jump if his legs weren't useless. When he gets out and turns around he finds Maven's brother with a cup in his hands. He notices a silver gleam and remembers Maven's bracelet. It's an exact duplicate. Thomas takes a moment to study his frame, finding differences and resemblances to the boy he loves. They share the black hair. But there's still that warmth seeping right out of Cal's pores, and he's holding himself up and with so much confidence he could very well be a king. Thomas remembers the hostility and bristling respect Maven showed the first time Thomas asked about him. And despite every closeness he's still reminded of that second. That there isn't a simple answer.

His brown eyes are very observant. Thomas remembers the day Cal pulled him aside. Strange but pleasant, making his head hurt.

"Dude, " he forces his voice to say. "You did it again, not cool. I almost lost it."

"Maven still asleep?"

Thomas looks back in the direction of the door. Thinking of someone curled up along his bruised spine leaves a yearning ache in his stomach. "Yeah. Think so."

He's lost in this talk. A part of him thinks Cal will just kick him out, but he's the reason Thomas got to stay in the first place. That's making him mighty uncomfortable.

He owes him.

His life, probably.

"Want some coffee?" There's something behind it. Boy, Thomas thinks, I am in again. This will end freaking strange. But he can't say no. And he's feeling to rough to start a fight. His everything is tumbling upside down. It makes him a little nauseous. Like he's motion sick.

"Why not." Thomas says, limping behind him, just following for once. He follows the red clad back. Through the rolled up sleeves he sees tiny scars on Cal's arms.

Cal leans against the counter and Thomas follows the example, relaxing his cramped back and trying not to brush against his bruises again.

"Thanks for yesterday. You saved my hide. And if you hadn't said anything..." Thomas can't look him in the face. They both know well enough what he wants to say.

Cal sighs and offers him a ceramic cup. "He's no good with feelings. He's never been. He used to hide as a child, we had to pry him out of closets and behind doors all the time. He was clinging to his mother's skirt when he had to be in public."

He takes the cup. It warms his fingers. He can still feel the biting cold. It has filled a void in him and made it a glacier.

"For a smart person he can be slow." Thomas adds and takes a sip of his coffee. It's black without his usual sugary disaster. It burns his tongue and is disgusting but he needs to be wide awake for whatever is happening next. "I'm not sure I am what he really needs. He's gotta have someone who doesn't go away and ruins things." The words flow out of him with all the hurt and all the doubt. "He needs someone who's strong and steady and patient. I'm nothing like that. I just wanna take. I'm railroading him. If he doesn't wanna love me like I am pressuring him to, what should I do?"

For a while Thomas is sure he has said too much. He's spilling it all out on a stranger. It's because he has no one left to confide. He's pushed them away and left them behind like a kid leaves toys scattered along the floor. He's a terrible person, isn't he?

"Look, it's none of my business. My brother cares about you. He's parading your drawings around like they are Van Gogh's. And he's not as lonely as he used to be. But if that's not what you want, you need to tell him. And don't just yell it at him. That's just making it worse."

Thomas takes a deep breath, holding the cup like a shield. "You know I yelled at him?"

Cal's bronze coloured eyes are very calm when he looks over at Thomas. "Oh yes, he's been insufferable the last week."

With another long breath Thomas sets the cup down. It clinks solemnly on the blank polished counter.

"I can't and I don't want to tell you what to do." Cal continues. "just sort it out. I know you have it tough. But this isn't doing any of you a favour. He doesn't know what's a relationship about."

Make it a clean cut, Elaras voice says, though Thomas knows that isn't what Cal means. It sticks with him like glue on his brain.

"You know what?" Thomas says. "You're a good brother. You care. I'm not."

"Not too late to change it." There's something infecting about that confidence. Thomas pulls his ruined face into a smile.

"Fair enough. Gotta do something about it."

When he returns to Maven's room he finds him half awake, staring at the door with an indecisive expression.

"You're still here." There's doubt lurking behind that words.

"Yeah." Thomas heaves himself on the bed next to him.

This is the moment to talk it out. The words are at the ready.

None of them says them.

"I need to talk to my family." Thomas says instead.

"That's good."

"Can I come back later?"

"If you want to."

* * *

He can't bring himself to knock. He's been standing there for minutes and cannot knock. His hand fidgets indecisive before he lowers it.

 _Grow a pair, Thomas, just do it._

He bites his lip and gets through with it though he wants to run away.

 _For once, do the right thing, idiot._

The door opens.

"Tommy," a voice says and he sees his mother in the doorway. His older sister is right behind her when she rushes forward, leaping two steps onto him.

He's speechless. There's pilled up hurt, accusations and pain between them. Questions he's not willing to answer.

His fathers eyes are watching closely. He doesn't rush, standing a few feet away. He doesn't say anything. Thomas knows he's probably still pissed about the last discussion they had.

He's told him everything in one long blurp.

 _Yeah I am in trouble. I maybe go to jail. And yes, fuck me, I like guys, Dad._

 _I don't understand you, Thomas. I really want to. But I can't. Why do you always feel the need to destroy everything? You never stop, and you can't appreciate what people try to do for you. Is this just to hurt us?_

"Hey" he just whispers, tongue heavy.

His mother is so warm and smells so familiar it hurts when she carefully pulls him into an embrace.

"Who did this, Tommy?" she asks, staring at his face in horror.

"This?" He takes some time to process that. "Got into a fight. It's just bruises, momma."

He feels like a child again with her fussing over a scraped knee.

She pulls him inside and he stumbles into his old home. It's feeling alien to be here again after such a long time apart. He sees the smears on the wall his sister has left, the chair he used to sit on, the window he used to stare out, wondering what's in store for him, waiting for his father's return from work.

"Your friend told you we talked?" his sister asks, more curious than judging. She's the best of the bunch. She was always better than him.

He nods and wants to vomit.

"That's good, Tommy, you need people to look out for you." She says and leans against the windowstill.

His father still proceeds to stare silent. He looks so sad. Thomas wishes he'd never had said a word.

"Yeah." He whispers. " Where's Ida?"

"Playing at the neighbors," his sister answers.

"Yeah, better this way, no need to freak her out."

His mother won't let go of him and it's wearing his tired discipline thin. If she doesn't stop, he'll start to cry.

"Tell her I love her." He whispers against his mothers long hazel hair, greyish on her temples.

"You could tell her yourself if you'd grow up and come home." It's the first words he's heard from his father in months. They are loud in the room and they pierce through his hazy mind.

"Dad, not now." His sister says.

"The boy just got injured." His mother finally let's go and jumps in his defence too.

He doesn't deserve it.

"Yes." His father crosses his arms. "He's homeless and in trouble. None of this would have happened if he had stayed home."

"If this is still about me being gay, Dad," Thomas forces himself to say through the fatigue. "Just let it go."

"This is about you running away and not even calling." His father growls. "You could have been dead for all we knew. Your mother was sick of worry. And all of that because you got a rebellious streak and eat that propaganda up. Uprising. Equal rights."

"I have friends like that. But I never-" Thomas starts but his father won't listen.

"You could have ended in prison, don't get it. That would have ruined your life. And instead of using the second chance you are wasting your time running around town like a stray dog." He creases his brow in an angry and worried line. "I'm not going to say anything about your… love life. If that friend of yours is really having your back he wouldn't have encouraged you to stay out."

"It's not like I would listen." Thomas says weak.

"And why is that?"

Thomas closes his eyes and wishes them all away.

Eventually, the conversation around him cools a little and his father leaves without another word, muttering something about being late to work. Stomping steps storming out, like a hurt animal.

His mother hugs him again. "Please come home, Tommy, we miss you. You don't have to stay. Just let us find a home for you."

"She's right. I want to move out anyway, Tommy. We could find something together."

Thomas feels overwhelmed. "Lemme think about it."

His sister presses his hand and smiles. "Sure."

He's tired to the bone when he returns to Maven's house. Now, talk it over, a voice urges him. He doesn't have the energy to go through with it.

He just curls together on his bed, and they listen to music, not talking at all.

Somewhere along the process, Maven reaches out and rests his hand on Thomas leg.

There's something frail, made out of glass in Thomas soul and it's breaking. He leans over and kisses Maven, bruised hands and bitten nails holding his face. He looks grotesque and sick in comparison, he's sure. He's not looking like they could fit. But to Thomas, to some part of him, it does just that. That part doesn't care about the fighting and the crying, the nights spent awake because there's anxiety, and sorrow. It's the part that remembers jokes and kisses and soft light warming two bodies.

His heart is utterly exhausted. His head hurts. Everything causes pain.

"I love you." He says. It's true. But it sounds weak.

"I know." Maven answers, his fingers are gliding very carefully about Thomas patched up face. "And I wish I- you deserve to hear it back without hesitation."

"I don't wanna talk. Not now, ok?" Thomas whispers, and plants another kiss along the corner of Maven's mouth.

They stay in bed the whole day, hands touching the other or just brushing, very careful. The touch never lasts long enough. Thomas soaks it into his soul like a plant does water on a hot summer day.

Occasionally one of them moves or leaves, but the other is never far away, just in reach of fingertips.

The hours are creeping by too fast. He can't stop it.

When they sleep in the same bed this night they are clinging tightly. Thomas arms is tugged around Mavens shoulder. His face is leaning on the usual spot on his neck, and he's breathing slow.

Thomas doesn't sleep for a long time.

"I'm going back to the Stilts." He says the next morning, sinking deep into the warmth of one of Maven's sweaters, not able to look him in the eyes.

"You're moving back in?"

"For a while." Thomas says shrugging. "My sister wants us to be roomies when she moves out."

There's uncomfortable silence, creeping through the words and into the heads.

"I don't know if I can handle this." He says, rubbing his eyes as if to stop tears that will never come.

"Your family will figure it out." Maven says.

"Not family, Mave." Thomas sighs. "Us. You and me. This whole…I need a break. Sort myself out. Get it together."

Maven stares at him very silent, almost frozen.

"A break." He repeats.

"Yeah I know, I am stupid and there's probably a way to work around it. Compromise or something. Talk it out. But I am not sure I can do it. I am not sure I am…" he desperately tried to find the right words. He never could." enough."

"Are you-" The thought seems to be stuck between Maven's teeth.

"I guess I am." Thomas scratches his chin. "Not for long. Just a few days."

"Funny." Maven says. There is nothing humorous in his voice or face. "You still just leave people you love."

"We all have our strengths, silver prince." Thomas looks away because he can't stand the sight of Maven's face anymore. There's a wounded crack running right through it.

"See you in a few days, " Maven whispers. "Thomas."

"Bye ,pretty boy." Thomas takes his time to turn around." I'll call you."

The words are ash and bile on his tongue. They are meaningless.

* * *

He drops by Farleys doorstep on the way back. He doesn't ring. Instead he slips a piece of paper in her mailbox.

 _Sorry I'm a jerk._

He draws an exploding death star under it.

* * *

When Thomas takes a first step out of the train station and into the Stilts, he doesn't feel home at all. He feels like a visitor, a foreigner. He feels wrong in his own skin.

His mother opens the door. She doesn't say anything. She just smiles a little and lets him in. He drops almost dead, the small kitchen, sinking onto a creaking old wooden chair.

Everything is the same as the day he has left. Still nothing feels the same.

* * *

After a few days he makes his way to Whistle's pawnshop.

"Hey," he says when the doorbell rings and he steps in. His body functions on its own. His mouth moves without much effort.

"Got something for me?" Will asks, watching Thomas battered face.

"No. Actually," Thomas steps closer. "I'm back for good."

"Done with adventuring through town?"

"Yes. Done. With everything." Thomas takes a deep breath.

"And you wondered if I had work." Whistle says and clicks his tongue.

Thomas shrugs." Wondered if you could need a helping hand."

A few days get a few weeks and then it's months.

He doesn't call.

He doesn't drop by the house.

He doesn't go near the bench or the book store.

He just tells himself he moves on and hopes Maven can do the same.


	11. Almost

First, it's Christmas. He spends it at home after moving in. His sisters are delighted. His mother watches him like a mother hen. There's icy silence between him and his father. They do talk, eventually, but never comes out of it. They still don't fight, not with the others around.

Thomas' hands rest on the phone, ready to dial the rest of the number. But it's Christmas. Maven is with his family. He can't just pop up. That'd destroy the rest of his precious balance. He's sure it's better if he waits.

And so he waits.

The new year would have been a good alternative. People call everyone they know. He could just make it short. Let him know he hasn't forgotten.

He doesn't.

The weeks come and go and he always finds an excuse not to call. He never stops thinking about it.

Thomas stays in the city. He doesn't know why. He even gets himself a job, eventually. He can't stay at his family's and Whistles mercy forever.

That's not something he thought he would do, but hey, people grow up, yeah?

It's a line of jobs and he works all day and most of the night in a different place until he feels as tired as he's inside. The next thing he knows he's got enough money to move in with his older sister. They get the tiniest flat he's ever seen. He moves in with two boxes just as tiny and a mattress. Nothing much changes. The boxes go, an old Tv comes, the mattress stays. The walls are plastered with posters and there's pixel art everywhere because that's just her thing. It reminds him of things he doesn't want to think about.

He still has the ruined shirt.

It's full of holes and ripped on one side. He doesn't wear it, but he keeps it around as a reminder.

He moves to the next job and stays for a while. It's filthy little bistro between two shops, with a few tables and a greasy kitchen. And it comes with a pissed off fifteen-year-old occupant. Most times she just scowls at people and yells stuff from her place at her corner. Her name is Cameron. Thomas is in love with her, in a very platonic way. She has some attitude. It's like someone has cloned him and flipped him around to produce even more bitterness and bite.

Eventually, she comes around when she notices he's not half bad. Some nights she stays at his place or he smuggles her into concerts. He feels a little guilty for sticking to a minor because he's lonely. But it's not like she has places to go. She's as homeless as he was and she and her brother make due with what they have.

He gets himself a phone, eventually, even though there are only a few people that have his number.

One evening one particular call as Thomas struts home, legs like lead.

"You're back in town?"

Shades voice is positive. It has strength Thomas doesn't possess anymore. "I am."

"Does someone else know?"

"Farley knows."

"Of course she does." Thomas limps over the grass. "Your family?"

Now Shade hesitates." I mean…kind of? My father and mother know."

"What about Mare? "Thomas asks and knows the answer. Mare worries sick ever day Shade is away. But despite that, he just knows what Shade is going to say.

"No, she doesn't."

"Your thing, dude." Thomas shrugs even though no one can see it but him.

"I heard she's hanging with the rich kids now."

A certain face flashes in front of Thomas' eyes, but that's ridiculous and silly. And impossible.

"How should I know?" Thomas lies." I don't know anyone up there. Whatever Mare is there for, it'll be fine. She's a big girl now. Last time I pissed her off was ugly."

The talk drifts into other topics and Thomas' heart feels safe again.

Thomas blends it out but every time he thinks about Shades voice on the phone he can't. Maybe, just maybe, it's time to face it.

He'll never get over the fact he ran away. It's the ghosts of the what ifs, the tiny whispers that prick like needles. They follow him, chase him until his feet drag him into parts of the city he rather would avoid.

The book store is still open and nothing has changed. Thomas has avoided this part of town vigorously. He doesn't know if Maven still comes here frequently. Maybe he hasn't been here for a month, or even longer.

A few days come and go, no Maven in sight. He still comes and spends time. It's the smell and the shelves. They remind him of a version of himself that did not throw away the only person he's ever wanted to be with.

Sure, he was fucked up. He was a mess and in bad shape.

One thing that Thomas will always have. Cracking jokes and making someone laugh on a bench, lying in the same bed and holding hands. Present Thomas doesn't even want to think about the possibility.

That's until Tuesday. Thomas waits again, this time inside, skipping through books he isn't interested in.

That's when people pass by the window in the storefront.

No mistaking. He would recognize this face everywhere.

Maven has grown a bit, but he is still slender and lean, still blue eyed and dark haired. He still holds his head a little crooked and his shoulders a little hunched.

He makes Thomas hard leap into his chest and Thomas hates it.

Funny thing, he's not alone. Not at all.

Barrow is really hanging with the rich kids, Thomas thinks, staring at her dark-clad figure, the long hair and the earrings. She's still as spunky and hard as ever, but something about her is different. Maybe that's just his imagination running wild.

He wonders what he'll have to say when they get in. And why Maven even brought her along.

A part of Thomas hopes they just talk and won't ever see him.

Lucky enough for him they part ways. She moves in the opposite direction.

Maven, not so much. Well, there's no running now.

The doorbell rings and Thomas wants to hide under the boxes and never come out again. He looks around for the first time. That's the moment their eyes meet.

Something akin to a frown crosses Maven's face.

Thomas smiles helplessly. "Hey, Mave."

Maven makes a step back and turns around to leave. The doorbell rings again.

"No no no." Thomas needs to big jumps until he is in range to touch Maven, hold his arm, grab his shoulder. He doesn't dare. The close proximity is enough to remind them both of days of lazy sunshine, walks, and talks.

They block the entrance, but it's not like there are much bypassers or customer, to begin with.

"Listen, alright? Please just listen."

"I don't think you have the right to ask for anything."

Fair enough. It still hurts. Maven moves further away and Thomas follows. He feels like a stalker. He is a stalker, isn't he?

"Look I know I bailed. I let you down. I hurt you. That's me."

"You were always bad at apologizing." Maven scoffs softly. "But this takes the cake."

"Yeah, I know. Just... "Thomas scratches his chin before he decides it can't get worse. " This isn't about me trying to get back in your pants, Mave. It really isn't."

There are old hurt and new one behind that hard stare and the drawn together eyebrows. Thomas regrets this.

"I am listening." Maven says, dismissive like a king listening to his underling.

He looks over, sees the way the sun is slowly setting. Lanterns are burning. Yellow light casts shadows over Maven's face.

"I just...I wanna make it up to you." Thomas finally decides to say.

"You probably won't use it," Thomas says, fumbling in his pockets. He finds the slip of paper and stretches it out. An arms length between him and that silver prince he used to love.

Maven stares at the paper As if it will turn into a poisonous snake.

"I got a phone now. In case something happens. Or you just wanna talk. Text me."

The paper slip disappears in Maven's jacket. It's something. It's more than Thomas hoped for.

It takes two more weeks before something happens. It's in the dead of night. Morning is still far. Thomas is asleep on his mattress, still feeling the rush of too much food swelling in his belly. It's lazy and it's good. He hasn't had much appetite the last weeks but he can never say no when someone invites him.

He decides to turn off the TV and go to sleep when his smartphone makes a jumping, chirping sound, the sign for a new message. It's an unknown number and he only gave his to one person in the last weeks.

 ** _Regarding our conversation_** , the message starts, and Thomas bites his lips to stop himself from smiling. ** _I don't think there's anything you can do. But I believe you were honest._**

Gee, Mave, what am I, your lawyer? Thomas thinks. But it's so very Maven. Even in a text message.

 **Good to know.** Thomas writes back. **Thanks for texting me.**

There is a long moment of silence. Maven doesn't write back. Thomas can't let the opportunity slip.

 **Can't sleep, Mave?**

 ** _Not really._**

 **Bad dreams?**

 ** _No sleep, no dreams._**

Ah yes, the tired eyes, the refusal to accept slumber. Brushing it off. Thomas remembers too well.

 **I could call you**. Thomas offers.

There is another excruciating long break between his offer and the reply and Thomas is sure Maven regrets messaging him. Instead, Thomas can't believe what he reads in the darkness, staring at the white screen.

 _ **Do you still have the sketchbook?**_

That takes him back. The bag in Farley's apartment, with the filthy old hoodie and the book, were the only thing he had after they robbed him in the dead of winter.

 _ **It's full.**_

 _ **I'd like to see it.**_

 **I'll send you some pics tomorrow.**

 _ **I'm looking forward to it.**_

He types his reply. Don't look forward too much. You know how I am with promises.

He doesn't send it.

He sends one or two pictures everyday. He hasn't looked at the images for a long time. Seeing them now , and showing them to Maven, albeit not face to face, is weird.

Some he keeps for himself.

There is the sketch he made of Maven's face. He doesn't want him to think anything strange. It's too personal. They are still testing the water. He also doesn't send the ones he drew of Farley and Shade. Because they are his friends and nothing Maven needs to know.

The messages he receives are short and formal. They only talk about the sketches. They mostly come late in the night. Figures, the silver prince has a ton of work to do in the day, and Thomas can only imagine what that must be like.

Some very rare times Maven writes a sentence or two about his brother or Mare.

Thomas is glad as much as he is hurt. Curious.

Thomas stays awake longer than he usually would, dragging himself up in the early afternoon to get to work.

* * *

The concert is small, but the room is so crowded it's hard to breathe. Thomas lurks around the exit, a heavy overused fog machine making the air inside hard to breathe, while a guy with a cigarette stands on the other side and breathes the smoke in his direction. It's sticky and hot inside, and the air outside isn't much better. He's already off his jacket and in a shirt, but it's still too hot.

This was a bad idea. But it is probably still better than being alone, in his bed and waiting desperately for a message or a call until he falls asleep because he's so tired.

And also, Cameron wanted to go. And if he wouldn't have helped her get in, she'd have found another way. And probably would have fought a lot more. He can't deny she's grown really on him.

He calls her sweet nicknames to piss her off. Tonight its Cookie. Because she's a tough cookie, yeah? He's satisfied he came up with it and has a small good laugh for himself.

She's somewhere inside the noise and the crowd. He lost sight of her when she smashed herself against a guy bulky as a freaking bull, but she'll be fine. Maybe some bruises from the mosh pit. Nothing really bad. Cookie Cameron knows the deal. She can do whatever she wants and he gets her into places she's not allowed. And she doesn't provoke fights and keeps her head still in return.

The music reminds Thomas of the screeching sounds he used to like when he had his grungy phase. He's outgrown the slamming guitars and the screaming. Because in the end he was really just trying to piss people off and block his own thoughts out.

Not that he's really fixated on any kind of music.

By now Thomas barely listens to music at all.

Thomas leans in the exit, and the bouncer gives him a look but doesn't say anything. He probably thinks Thomas is waiting for someone.

Maybe he is. He isn't sure who though.

That's when a brown-haired head appears next to him, on the way out.

"Barrow?" He asks, over the noise. She looks good. Also, her clothes are pretty neat. He expected as much when she chilled in the hills. Still.

"Didn't know that was your kind of music." She says, looking at his almost too clean form. Thomas follows her gaze. HE's still skinny, but not like street rat days. The summer has tanned them both, and it suits her better than him. He's still a little burned on his neck and arms, scorched, but then again, it's the way he feels, and so he just takes the pain hoping it will be over soon.

His pants still have some ripples and holes, but now they aren't too big anymore.

"Yeah, watching out for a friend. She likes trouble." He smiles at her. "Where have you been? Seems you left the Stilts now that I have returned."

"One of us always has to be on the road." She toasts him with her beer. Their bottles clink.

"You here with friends too?"

"With..someone. But I lost him in the crowd."

He nods and looks back. The mosh pit has grown and he thinks he sees Cameron throwing herself against someone, hitting the other person hard. Thomas rolls his eyes but admires her enthusiasm.

"Yeah, it's a little wild."

They have a very limited range of topics. That has always been the case. He doesn't know why. They had things in common. Thomas doesn't want to talk about their upbringing or their siblings, and he definitely doesn't want to talk about mutual acquaintances.

He still leans over after taking a very, very long sip of his own beer. "Did Maven tell you I asked?"

Her brow wrinkles. "Maven? Why would Maven-"

With a smashing sound and a roaring cheer, the song ends. Thomas doesn't repeat his question or goes into detail.

Interesting, he just thinks. There could be a million reasons he didn't tell her. Thomas comes up with a solution that means it's about reconnecting through that simple question, and that his outstretched hand has been accepted.

It's probably not right.

"Okay, have my phone number, just in case?" he asks, hands outstretched. "People have been bugging me with questions about you, Barrow."

The exchange is smooth. She hands him an old phone with a crack on the display and he just types his number in. He knows his number by now. He didn't want to ask for Mavens phone back then. But now he's drunk and Mare Barrow is far less dangerous for his head.

"Oh, fuck my life." Thomas exhales deep, looking at Cal. Mare makes a sign with her hand and he struts over. Great, so she's here with his exboyfriends brother who said he should take care and don't mess up. Thomas would consider diving undercover and not keep in contact a mess.

"Yeah, great seeing you, need to look after my friend." As fast as he can, Thomas lowers his head and retreats in the safe shadow of a few smokers, returning inside.

For once, Cameron did not maul anyone who didn't want it. She's glowing vicious and happy, considering her standards for happiness. It's kinda cute.

"We gotta go!" He shouts at her.

"Fuck no!" She yells back.

Thomas looks around but luckily he doesn't see Mare or Cal. "Cookie, just do what I tell you, FOR ONCE!"

Her eyes find him and she flips a switch. The happiness is replaced by her usual grumpy and pissed off expression. "HE HERE?"

"Why would he?" Thomas inhales and says it more to himself than to her. "Hates crowds."

"Alright, asshat, move." She hits his shoulder hard when she struts past him. Thomas follows, quickly, keeping close like she's his shield and sword. She'd probably punch anyone for him if he just pointed her in a direction. At one point, wading through the crowd, he grips her arm to stay as close as he can, like she's actually the adult and he the kid.

"His brother is here," Thomas mutters. "And I think..the girl he's in love with too?"

Cameron snarls. "Fuck your life, Thomas." She says.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

They spend the rest of the night wandering around, and to his surprise, she's staying at his side.

"Cookie, I didn't know you were this loyal."

"If you tell anyone, I'll tell them you cried like a little girl." She threatens."And I get that tattoo. For free."

For the first time that night, he laughs. He laughs so loud and much his stomach hurts.

When the sketchbook is all but completely sent, Thomas starts to doodle at work. He takes one of the napkins. At first, he just lets it go as it comes. Then he remembers all the posters and the flags and starts drawing them, or characters out of their stories. He draws a chicken mutant dragon one time and smiles to himself before the guilt trips get him.

It's small and nothing very intricate. Sometimes the heads look deformed and they have fish eyes because the napkins are wet. He tries to cover it up.

He enjoys it more than he thought he would.

Even grumpy Cameron shows interest.

" Not bad." She says, leaning over and invading his privacy.

"A man of many talents." He says, a little proud.

"That's why you work in a filthy bistro."

" Don't you have people to yell at?" he asks and shoves her back from over him.

Shes unimpressed as one can be. "Don't you have to moon over your ex?"

"I was drunk that one time and you better shut your piehole or I bust your ass. I'm the adult. You're the minor. No matter how big that sass is."

"As if anyone cares, asshat." He almost expects her to flip him off. She's as rude as one can be. It's kind of nice.

He snorts. "At this rate, you'll never convince me to make you a tattoo."

The messages get longer. They talk about long days and the pressure between the words makes Thomas wince in sympathy.

Farley notices something is up. Of course, she does.

"Mare came along the other day." She says.

"That's good. "Thomas says, leaning back on her couch and eating the burrito she shoved in his hand because of course he hasn't eaten today and he knows he is too thin.

"Kilorn was here too." Farley continues.

Thomas shrugs. Kilorn Warren and he don't have much history with a few exceptions from bumping into each other because they swim in the same circles.

"She brought your ex."

He has told Farley everything, in the aftermath, after the exploded death star excuse was accepted. She's kind of like his mother. If his mother was a very hard and ass-kicking woman, fighting for rights and doing shady sabotages. She was there when he was homeless, and since then Thomas is rather glad they never really parted ways.

Thomas licks his lips, scratches his chin. Anything. in an attempt to cover whatever his face is betraying.

"I don't really want to talk about it, but whatever. What did they want?"

Farley gives him a long look, and it's clear she will not tell him the truth. It has gotta be something about their revolution shtick.

"This will end bad" Thomas just says, taking a bite. "There, I said it. My spider senses tingle."

* * *

He is on his way home from the grocery store when his phone rings and Maven's number appears.

"What's up?" Thomas greets, trying to sound cheerful. In truth, he just wants to go home and sleep.

The voice on the other end of the call is pondering. There's silence. Then a hesitating breath.

"Mave?" Thomas asks. "Did something happen?"

"No. Nothing at all." Maven's voice is stiff. He tries very hard to sound normal. Thomas is not buying a word. But he knows if he asks too much Maven will clam up again.

"Did you like the doodle?" he asks, casual. "I spent my whole lunch break with it."

"You're improving. "Maven whispers and Thomas likes to imagine it helps that they play this game.

"Well, duh, I better. I took lessons. Remember? I said I would." Was that too much? Insecurity is a mean little critter nagging at his heart.

Fishing for his keys in his jacket, Thomas balances the phone on one shoulder. Maven is not saying anything, just listening to him mumbling and cursing low. Because the keys are never where they are supposed to be and now the paper bag has toppled over and fuck you the universe hated Thomas.

And then he says something that makes Thomas heart flutter in his chest with so much hope it's foolish.

"It's good to hear your voice."

"Anytime, pal," Thomas says. For the first time in forever, he truly means something.

The calls are less frequent than the text messages. He wouldn't miss any second of it, even if it's just breathing on the other side or a small voice asking Thomas how his day was.

Thomas talks and tries to sound relaxed and unfazed but under the surface, he feels raw. He thinks of all the times they talked at the bench and of the moments Maven was curled against him. It's like someone is rubbing over the freshly healed scars with sandpaper. Seems that months isn't enough to heal.

He's joking and chattering, their conversations are always centering around something meaningless. Something that gets none of them hurt.

"You were wrong." Maven says one night.

It doesn't sound like an accusation but more of a casual observation. That's the only reason Thomas doesn't flip his shit.

"Tell me about it," he snorts and stretches on his mattress.

"Remember the girls in the coffee shop? The ones you bumped into?"

It's dangerous and very close to breaking the something that has to build up, to the distance and the safe borders of an acquaintanceship.

"Spiky gray and pretty red. Yeah." He waits where this will lead. All he can think about is a tiny precious smile he stored away to remember it forever.

"Well if they ever dated it never went any further. One's going to get married and the other one was dating my brother. Though I am sure that's just a prestigious thing."

"But they were involved, weren't they?" Thomas asks.

There's a pondering pause, choosing perfect words, as always. "One can suspect there were feelings on display."

"Then I wasn't wrong. Because I never said people stay together."

"That much is obvious." It sounds cold.

Thomas feels a stinging sensation spreading through his chest.

"So you'll admit I was right now? Since you and Barrow are too proving my theory."

No answer is enough for him.

"She IS your girlfriend?" Thomas asks. "Isn't she?"

"Why would that be your concern?"

"It's not." And it really isn't.". Just curious."

"Enlighten me. How about you?"

"Had a few flings, but you know me, nothing serious." He blows out a stream of air, trying to sound careless and confident. "let's just say it didn't end well sometimes. And didn't go very far. We're still friends mostly tho."

There's a rustling sound, like sheets turning, and Thomas realizes Maven must be calling from his bed too.

"You've grown your hair out." Maven says, out of nowhere, changing the topic.

"Yeah. Figured when I do the poor artist thing I can look the part."

"You had that awful crippled cut when we met. Some strands long, some short and out of line."

He rolls his eyes even though no one sees it. "It was a rusty scissor and a sink, what do you expect from that?"

"I never expected anything." Maven says and for the second time this night they drift off the safe path.

"I always told you I was terrible." Thomas jokes, but it sounds too hard and too sad.

There's static silence and more rustling sheets when Maven turns, a little creaking sound and a clicking switch.

"It's late." He finally says.

"Yeah. Got work tomorrow. You got stuff too. You always do, smart kid."

"Good night." Maven says stiffly.

Night, pretty boy, Thomas wants to say but catches himself. "Yes, good night, Mave."

It's never as easy to dodge the serious topics after that one call.

They still manage fine most times.

"You sound terrible" Thomas still says when he cleans the tables, phone under his chin, tugged in his shoulder.

Maven takes his time to answer. "I am just tired."

Cameron lurks around the usual spot. She cleans her teeth with her finger. Thomas takes the cleaning rag in his hand and hits her with it.

She flips him off and he smiles before he returns the gesture.

" Lotta pressure for you at the moment? Or some beef with the family?"

"Things are never simple, Thomas, and there's always expectations."

"True." He sighs. "Just try to be...I don't know. Take care. "

* * *

He's very, very surprised when Mare texts him.

He hasn't thought about her for a while. He doesn't try to think about Maven too. That's not working so great.

It's an invitation to tag along, because of some movie she wants to watch with friends.

He waits for a while before he writes her back. He doesn't want to seem too desperate.

When he answers, he tells her he'll probably bring one or two people.

But Cameron refuses. "I'm not going anywhere with those filthy silver sons of a bitch if it ain't hell."

"Come on, honey bee." He winks and tries to be charming.

"No." She scoffs.

"Cupcake, please? I'll go to twenty horrible moshpitty concerts with you. I'll smuggle you into a bar. Anything for you, Cookie."

She looks disgusted and shakes her head. "Dude, you ran away from his brother and ugly cried the night. Why would you even consider going? You'll fuck yourself up if he shows up."

"Yeah, probably." He admits.

"Whatever." She turns around and leaves. The door hinges make a squeaking sound and the doorbell clinks. " And don't die, you moron."

Thomas hasn't slept the whole night and he's twenty minutes early.

He just hangs around the parking lot.

Mare and Cal show up first. At the sight of them, something breaks and gets picked up again. Because it's only the two of them but that's worse enough.

When Cal sees Thomas, there's a tense silence, with strained shoulders and very cautious eyes.

"Hey." Thomas waves in the round.

"Mare," Cal sounds like Thomas remembers him. Calm. But there's an edge in his voice. "Did you invite Thomas?" _Of all people, it had to be Thomas._ Thomas can take that.

It sounds more worried than pissed off.

"What?" She looks up, a little irritated by his insistence. "We know each other and he was at the concert and mentioned Maven, so I thought-"

"Yes, Thomas knew Maven very well," Cal says, hand gripping the bridge of his nose. "And then he left him and never even called."

"Yeah well, I meant to, but it was not like that would have been a good idea." Thomas feels like a jerk. Because he is.

"Wait what?" Mare looks between them. She isn't fast enough to stop the discussion.

"He was pretty down, to say the least," Now Cal looks pissed, and Thomas remembers he could easily just break his body into tiny parts. "It took months. You need to leave. Now."

"Dude, I feel the same way." Thomas takes his bag. It's not quite true. He doesn't say a word about the texts or the calls. Not a word about something so failed and broken even one word can destroy the changes of even remotely fixing it. "Sorry for crashing your weird date or whatever."

For once, Cal stays silent.

"Oh my fucking god," Thomas says because he can't stop himself. "I am right. And you're taking your brother because you never can say no."

"It was my idea," Mare says, shoulders straight. "And if you want to leave, better run, because he's already seen you."

Thomas wants to bang his head against the wall but still just turns around to look at a very familiar face.

For a second it's like they meet at the center in the parking lot, wandering around and trying to connect.

But it's not the same, of course.

"Hey, Mave." Thomas smiles but it's fake and feels wrong. His heart is jumping out of his chest.

Maven looks good, but a little pale all in black.

If this was a normal day before Thomas left him, he'd have cracked a joke. Hey look, we match, haha.

Now he just stands and stares as blue eyes with tiny silver spots in it take in the shitshow before him.

"You said you'd invite other people."

"I'm the other people," Thomas says.

Maven frowns a little.

"Thomas was just about to leave," Cal says.

"Yeah, yeah I guess I was." Thomas nods.

"No, it's okay. He can tag along."

They are all surprised by the words. They even stare all a little. Thomas feels like his eyes will pop out his sockets. This is more than he expected. And everything he hoped for.

"Sure, we're adults about it." Jerk-Thomas makes a face and shrugs. "Lotta water has run down that river."

Now Cal and Mare look like they want to punch him. He follows Maven's hunched over back inside.

At least a movie means no talk. The cinema is empty. Thomas takes a place as far away from them as he can. Freaking crazy people setting up dates or buddies because they can't say no.

Well, he said no to those eyes so often he can count it.

The guilt eats right through him. He watches them talk and laughs and he feels empty.

She's like the glue holding this whole thing together. He sees the lingering gaze. He knows what that gaze means. It promises comfort and it means admiration. You have a good heart, Thomas.

He's really liking her. That's pretty obvious. It feels disgusting to be jealous.

He can't help it.

Also, it makes him a little angry Mare doesn't even seem to realize it.

Thomas makes it halfway through the movie and doesn't even know what they are watching. Feet on the seat in front of him, he just watches flashes of three people.

Then he gets up and decides he has to leave.

The fresh air helps a bit. He sits down on the curbstone and leans his head in his hands.

When feet approach him he's sure Cal has come to riddle him with accusations.

Instead, a black-clad figure sits down next to him, in respectable distance.

"I didn't know you would come."

"Yeah, sorry about that," Thomas whispers. "Should have texted you I was about to burst right in your menage a trois."

"You know that word." Maven huffs.

"I read a few books in the past months." Thomas snorts.

When he looks up he sees blue eyes watching him. Not seeing through. Just absorbing every detail of his face.

"Okay," Thomas admits. "It was one and it was for my art lessons. But it had some fancy words in it. Not menage a trois. I caught that in some movie. "

Something he hasn't thought he'd ever do again happens. He makes Maven smile, lips half tugged up.

When Thomas smiles back the whole thing is undone immediately, as If Maven just caught himself in something he didn't mean to do.

Of course, he didn't.

"I really thought she was your girlfriend." He says because the situation can't get worse. And because he needs to get it out of his system.

There's the coldest of smiles, and it makes Thomas shiver."She's not, clearly."

"Shit happens, Mave, you can't choose who you like."

"Yes, I learned that lesson before."

This is pathetic. Thomas feels like an asshole.

"Was nice meeting you," he still says as he gets up. "Call me if you want to talk or just hang out."

"You don't mean that." Maven answers.

"I do, pal. I knew at least your brother would be here. I still couldn't help it and showed up."

"Art lessons, facing uncomfortable situations," Maven lifts his eyebrows. His voice is dry as the desert sun. And it burns as much. "Look who's growing up."

"Oh, did you learn to channel that positive energy in therapy?" He snaps back.

There's something arrogant in Maven's face. Thomas knows it's just too safe himself and preserve something he doesn't want to show. He still can't help but feel insulted by it. It reminds him of Elara too much.

"No, I learned to acknowledge my fear of abandonment after my best friend abandoned me."

He can't bring himself to say something. Anything really. He wants to tell him of his vulnerability and of Elara sitting at the bench. He doesn't believe what he says next. "Fair enough, I told you, leaving is what I do. I did it twice when we were together, and I will do it again."

"Then do it now." Maven says, hands in his pockets.

"Don't let your brother catch you drooling at his girlfriend." Thomas takes his bag and leaves.

He doesn't turn around.

When he steps into Farley's apartment the next morning, he's hungover and barely alive.

"Please tell me you got coffee."

"You're a mess." She says, smelling him and retreating disgusted. " Where have you been?"

"Obviously I've had the night of my life." He follows her into the kitchen. " I drank my money for this week's groceries. Not literally crushed and drunk it, but, y'know." The memories are blurry. "And then I made out with some dude I don't even remember. I think I left but I'm not sure when? I don't wanna know. "

"You seemed to get your life together," Farley says. Thomas stumbles to her coffee machine. "At least you were not constantly crashing my couch."

"As if I'd want that with you and Shade being all..ewww...That'd be like walking in on my parents."

"If you call me your mother one more time," she threatens mildly.

"Sorry, Captain." He holds the cup in one hand and salutes with the other. Or maybe the cup is the thing holding him in place. "I have a bad case of regret and guilt coming. Maybe lasts a while."

"Is this about how you should have stayed when you didn't?"

"Yeah, yeah it is."


End file.
